The Flight
by N3GatorFan
Summary: Shortly after Henry tells Jo the truth about himself, he flees the country, causing her to set out to find him. When she finally catches up to him, he reveals more of his painful past. Will she be able to help him overcome his fears and convince him to return to New York with her, or will he leave everything—including her—behind…forever?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note** : This story comes from an idea that had suddenly popped in my head a few months ago. While working on the basic outline for it, I discovered Camp NaNoWriMo—the spring and summer versions of National Novel Writing Month—and I had decided to challenge myself to writing a 50,000-word fanfic in one month. A couple of minor things have been edited to fit the story better and to correct factual errors, but this is essentially what I had written during the month. (It _is_ completely proofread, though. I'm not calling Henry a girl again like I did in one flashback for another story if I can help it!xD)

For the basis of the story, I had set Henry and Adam's confrontation in 1x22 on April 29 instead of May 5-7 like most fanfics of this nature. It actually works out weather-wise later in the story. (All weather conditions for the cities used as settings were obtained from Weather Underground and Weather Finder.)

I hope that you will enjoy the story.

There are general spoilers for every episode.

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

"You've got this, girl."

Jo closed her door and took a moment to gather her courage. This was the first time that she had to deal with anything like this. Two days before, she had expected to attend another painful funeral, this time for Henry. Now, she had no idea whether he was dead or alive.

She wiped tears from her eyes. He was a kind, reasonable, and eccentric man…a geek with a heart of gold and a sense of chivalry that seemed to be right out of a Jane Austen novel. He was her friend and someone whom she cared about tremendously. He had his whole life in front of him….

She heaved a frustrated sigh. From the second that they had begun their most recent pair of cases, though, she had seen a different side of him, one that had suggested that he wasn't as honorable of a man as she had always believed. Her more cynical side had told her that part of his nature was the thing that he had been hiding since they had met and that it was in her best interests to end their partnership before she got hurt…or worse. What had stopped her from giving into it was Henry literally bringing a knife to a gun fight.

With each step, the sidewalks leading to the antiques shop morphed into the abandoned subway tunnel under the Fort Hamilton Station. Her ears still rung from the two gunshots that someone other than Henry had fired just moments earlier. Her heart sank as she sensed that the second bullet had found her partner's heart, and her anger at herself for their last conversation—similar to her last argument with Sean—rose with each step. The pungent smell of gunpowder filled the air as she stepped onto the landing leading to the platform. Her heart raced as she expected to see Henry's killer around the corner. Confusion filled her when she discovered a platform devoid of anything indicating that a crime had been committed, and it deepened when she found an unusual photograph on her way back to the other platform.

She looked around one last time to see if she could find Henry. Maybe he had escaped in time and was hiding himself from his would-be attacker. Maybe he was injured, and he was seeking medical assistance for himself. Maybe he had hidden a gun in the tunnel before she had tracked him into it and had used it as a ruse to keep her busy while he had gotten rid of the _pugio_. Maybe whoever had confronted him had killed him on a different platform and had left the two items here for her to find.

Each possibility jockeyed for her attention, with the latter becoming the dominant one as she realized that Henry was nowhere in sight. One more explanation for everything gnawed at her mind, one which had its roots in their confrontation of Hans Koehler last year. Maybe she was right. Maybe Henry had really been shot in the chest again and had somehow survived the fatal wound like he had miraculously survived his shooting and fall off Grand Central's roof then.

She shoved that thought out of her mind. That was ridiculous. Immortality only happened on TV or in movies. It didn't happen in real life.

A car's horn jarred her back into the present and alerted her to the traffic at the intersection near the shop. Her chest tightening, she drew in the cool midday air to release its grip. How many times had she made this walk over the past year? How many times had she seen Henry tending to the shop or looking at something for sale? She had become so used to him being there….

She clutched Henry's watch as though it were a lifeline to a past that she had once known. She was hoping that he was still alive, that he could explain things to her, that he could help her make some sense out of what she had recently seen and heard and of the events of the past few weeks. She, however, was bracing herself for the possibility of Abe informing her of the time of Henry's funeral. If Henry had indeed died, she would never forgive herself for their last conversation, and she wasn't sure if she would ever be able to cope with losing him forever.

As she neared the door, the sight of Henry leaning over a table and resting a finger on a chess piece greeted her… as if the events of the past couple of days had never happened. She could not believe her eyes. How…?

She couldn't stay there all day and watch them in an effort to determine whether what she was seeing was her imagination or real. Hoping to get his attention, she knocked on the door and swallowed. Sure enough, he turned toward the door and quickly noticed her. He stared at her as though he couldn't believe that she was standing there.

Wishing that she could be close enough to him to see that he was really there, she waved at him. As he strolled to the building's entrance to open the door, her heart raced at the sight of his smile. It slowly convinced her that she didn't need any more evidence to draw the logical conclusion. He really was alive.

He swung the door open. "Hello, Detective. Do you have a new mystery for me to solve?"

She smiled back at him. If he had felt hurt when she had kicked him out of her car, he wasn't showing it now. In fact, it had seemed that he might have forgiven her for the angry words that she had said to him just before….

Remembering what she had found at the latest scene, she reached into her coat pocket. "Yeah, I think that you can say that."

She pulled out his watch and offered it to him. He looked down at it, and, at that moment, a slight flicker of nervousness flashed across his face. He widened his eyes and sighed with relief in an unsuccessful attempt to hide it.

"Thank goodness." He reached out and took it, his fingers brushing over her palm and sending a slight tingle through her in the process. "It was just stolen. I was about to file a police report, and, well, here you are."

Her heart instantly sank at his words. His explanation was not what she had wanted to hear. The two previous times that she had held his watch, he had either come up with an incredible excuse to explain how it had shown up at a crime scene or refused to say anything about it. This time….

She fought back the thoughts and the questions that were forming in her mind. "I figured that you would say that." She lowered her eyes to steady her emotions.

She reached into her pocket and removed the photograph that she had found with the watch. "I also found this."

The moment that she showed it to him, his smile dropped, and he stared at it as though he had seen a ghost. "I was hoping that you could explain it to me."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Abe joining them. He glanced at the photo, and, from what she could tell, he appeared to immediately recognize it.

Henry looked back at her in stunned disbelief. He gingerly took the picture from her and continued to stare at it. For a moment, she thought that she saw a hint of sadness in his eyes, almost as if he was missing the people in it.

Abe leaned over Henry's shoulder. "Tell her."

At the sound of Abe's voice, Henry looked up at her with fear surfacing in his eyes. He turned to his roommate, and their eyes met. Henry opened his mouth as though he was about to protest. Abe, however, maintained their eye contact and nodded.

Not noticing that he wasn't looking at her, she nodded toward the picture. She finally directed her attention back to Henry. What was it about the picture that had made him want to hide the truth about it? And why were Henry and Abe at odds with each other about it? The only times that she had heard them disagree on anything were the need to tell her about Henry's stalker and the hidden Tang Dynasty horse that Abe had believed to be stolen.

Henry studied the picture for a few more seconds, trying to decide whether he should comply with Abe's order. He finally looked up at her, and his nervous gaze met her determined one.

"It's a long story."

He took a deep breath, swallowed, and stepped back to let her into the shop. As she eased around him, her gaze met Abe's. His eyes pleaded for understanding, something that she wished that she would be able to give them. She offered him a small smile which she hoped would reassure him of her willingness to be open-minded about whatever Henry had to say.

Henry and Abe moved to the table where their chess game now sat forgotten. He worriedly directed his look to the black-and-white photograph in his hands before raising his eyes to an insistent Abe. After a moment, he then gave her another uneasy glance before slowly making his way toward the door leading to their apartment upstairs.

She swallowed as she fell behind him. There must be a logical explanation for the familiar person in the photo. According to Henry's arrest records and his background check, he was born on September 19, 1979, and he had mentioned that he and Abigail had never had children. Yet, there he and, apparently, his wife were, standing in front of a house with a child in her arms. The only differences that she could see in Henry were his old-fashioned clothes, being clean-shaven, and having slicked-back hair like Mike. At first, she had thought that the picture was a fake. Upon closer inspection and after remembering seeing a similar photograph of Karen's grandparents in the 1940s sitting on the mantle in Mike and Karen's living room, Jo was quite convinced that the photograph was real.

She sighed as they neared the top of the stairs. To be honest, he had always been so tight-lipped about his life, and she had always wished that he would tell her about it. If he had let her in when they had met, maybe she would not be in this situation. He had recently said that she was one of the few people he trusted, but why couldn't he trust her with the truth about his life?

Abe turned and looked back at Jo as she mounted the last step. "If you need anything, just call me. I'll be around." A moment later, he disappeared into the hallway presumably heading toward his bedroom.

Henry extended his hand and gestured toward the living room. She stepped around him and headed for the sofa. As she took a seat, she noticed him taking one last look at the picture before carefully and reverentially setting it on the coffee table. His eyes trained to the ground, he slowly lowered himself into a chair near their fireplace.

She narrowed her eyes in confusion. The last time that she had seen him like this, he had admitted that he had that his stalker had believed he was immortal. Why was Henry acting this way now?

After a few long moments of silence, he inhaled and finally looked up at her. "When we, um, we had first met, um, you had commented that there was something that I wasn't telling you. Well, um, you were right. I should have told you then, but I could find neither the courage nor the words to tell you." He sharply inhaled. "Th—there is no easy way to say this, but I—I'm, um, I'm immortal."

 _Huh?_ She didn't hear that right.

"Immortal?" Surprised that he had brought up her most insane theory to explain everything, she repeated the word. "As in, you can't die?"

His eyes roamed her face. Then, suddenly becoming emboldened by what he was seeing, he straightened his slouched posture. "Actually, I can die, and I have done so on numerous occasions. I, however, have always returned to life in a local body of water—naked. Here in New York, even when I die in another body of water—natural or man-made—I always awaken in the East River."

"What…? How…?" The way that he described immortality was nothing like she had heard about or imagined.

"Maybe I should start at the beginning." He leaned forward and folded his hands in front of him. "I was born on September 19, 17—."

Before he could finish his sentence, the sharp sound of a ring pierced the air. Thinking that it was her cell phone, Jo instinctively reached into her pocket and started to pull it out. It took Henry bounding out of his seat and walking toward her for her to realize that it was _his_ phone sitting on the end table beside her.

He quickly picked up the receiver and turned to her. "Yes…." He licked the inside of his lower lip and looked her in the eye. "Do we require homicide's presence?" He sighed at the response, and the light in his eyes began to fade. "I see…. I'll be at the scene within a few minutes. Lucas can meet me there."

He gave her a small smile, one that failed to reach his eyes, as he hung up. "My apologies, Jo. It appears that Lucas and I have a body to process. I must be leaving."

"Yeah." She slowly rose from her seat, and her legs wobbled under her like jelly. She instinctively steadied herself and began to trudge to the door.

Henry brushing against her brought her back to her senses. She stopped and watched him as he headed toward the hallway. "I guess that I'll see you at work then." The words tumbled out of her mouth automatically; she wasn't sure if recent events would jeopardize their ability to work together.

He spun toward her voice, and his wary expression met hers. He simply nodded and set off for his bedroom.

"I take it that he's told you."

Jo startled at the sudden sound of Abe's voice in the kitchen. Uncertain as to what she could say, she nodded.

He studied her as he leaned on the table. "You're one of the few people whom he trusts, and he has recently implied that he doesn't want to lose what you two have. He's been hurt in the past, and I think that his fear about what could happen if the truth is discovered has made difficult for him to tell you about himself. Regardless of what you believe, just take some time to think about what he has said. Maybe you'll accept it; maybe you won't. But remember this: usually, he likes to keep this part of himself hidden, even when confronted with evidence of it. It took a lot of courage for him to tell you the truth."

She huffed. If he cared about her, then why had he told her that he was immortal?

As she heard Henry's footsteps in the hallway, she exchanged one final look with Abe. "I'll think about it."

* * *

Once outside, the slightly cool mid-spring air cleared her mind. Henry's words—both past and recent—began to echo in Jo's thoughts. She scoffed at them. His claim that his stalker had believed that he was immortal was acceptable. Saying that he, a man of science, believed in the idea that an antique weapon could make someone immortal was a shock. Yet, billions believed—and a small part of her hoped—that the _pugio_ 's use to kill would usher them into an afterlife somewhere else or a new life in a different body after death. But claiming to be immortal…? He—a medical examiner, of all people—should know that people did not come back from the dead…and especially not the way that he had described.

She crossed the street, quickly unlocked her door, and slid into her seat. His statements threatened to suffocate her, and she willed herself to breathe. She had always known that his job was stressful, and he frequently didn't tell her—and maybe Abe also—what he was feeling. At the same time, he had taken the last few cases quite personally…like he had had a stake in them. After hearing how Abe's mother had died, he had finally snapped. Henry would hate her for it, but, as soon as she returned home, she would call Bellevue and schedule him for another appointment with Dr. Farber.

The moment that she pulled out of her parking space, the memory of the last time that Henry had met with the psychiatrist crossed her mind. While she was leaving his office to follow after Henry, she had not heard Dr. Farber mention Henry's need for another visit. If he had noticed any issues, he would have scheduled more sessions or would have recommended some form of treatment.

She rolled through the yellow light and sighed. As far as anyone else was concerned, Henry was just an eccentric man. Even if she mentioned the few times that he had a death wish—usually while confronting suspects—no one would believe her. Maybe they were right. Maybe she was just imagining things.

She shook her head as their conversations over the past year tumbled in her mind. His eccentricities were nothing like she had ever seen. She still felt that it would take years or several lifetimes for someone to develop everything from a Sherlockian ability to analyze any situation that they were in to having enough knowledge to sustain one _very_ long winning streak on _Jeopardy_.

" _How about centuries?_ "

" _Or just one very long one_."

Her jaw dropped. Did he really say that? Did he really imply…?

She huffed. It didn't matter how much time that it had taken Henry to pick up everything. He was one very eccentric man.

His expensive tastes, she could give him that one. His father was rich enough to send Henry to Oxford and to co-own an antiques business with shops in London and New York. Likely, Henry had inherited his family's wealth after his father's death, and he was using that to splurge on his luxuries while saving his leftover paycheck for the future. He probably hadn't said anything about it because he was afraid that he would come across as being stuck-up.

She bit her lower lip as she caught sight of Alphabet City's tenements. She was born and raised in the city, and, through her job, she had visited many of its neighborhoods for the first time. Yet, for a Londoner, his knowledge of the city was uncanny. She had patrolled Alphabet City for a couple of months when she was a beat cop, and she had never known that there were tunnels running under the neighborhood's buildings. Henry, however, had moved through them like he had played in them every day when he was a child. Furthermore, on several occasions, he had talked about life in the city in the past as if he had seen it with his own eyes.

There was a perfectly logical explanation for that. When he was growing up, he had probably developed a love for New York after hearing his parents talk about it, and he had read everything about it that he could get his hands on. During their trips to visit Abe, his parents were permissive enough to allow their son explore the city on his own. He had stumbled on the tunnels one day, and he had never forgotten them.

Still, that didn't explain why he had stroked Gloria Carlyle's hair when he had conducted her autopsy or why he had so much personal knowledge about the ornery old woman. It did not explain how he had known that Miranda Browning's family had owned their townhouse in Morningside Heights since the early 1900s or why he had stated that she resembled one of her ancestors. It also didn't explain…

She tapped her steering wheel. She could always ask Abe what he knew about Henry's knowledge of the city. He knew quite a bit about the mysterious medical examiner.

Then, there was Henry's relationship with Abe. The two men were very close, and Henry had said was that Abe was the closest thing to family that he had. Their relationship became more obvious when they were worried about each other. There were times that Henry had acted almost….

No, no, no. That could not be the case. There was no way—.

A splash of beige suddenly appeared in front of her and snapped her out of her thoughts. She slammed on her brakes to keep herself from running into the car sitting at the red light. She panted as adrenaline raced through her. She couldn't believe how distracted she was.

The moment that the light changed, her thoughts went back to the two men. They had never convincingly explained how they had known each other. When she had asked them, their nervous expressions, their inability to maintain eye contact with her, and their overlapping conversation revealed that they were coming up with their explanation while she was sitting there.

Anger at herself rose in her. She shouldn't have believed their story about Henry's past. They were lying about that like Henry had lied about his watch. Were they also lying about their connection to Sylvia Blake?

Her anger subsided at the thought of one of the most important women in his life. Apparently not; she was one of the few things about his life that he was honest about. Henry was obviously very close to Abe's mother—a woman who had died when Henry was only six. Jo barely remembered much about her own life at that age. What was it about Sylvia that had stayed with Henry throughout his life and had driven him to obsessively pursue the truth about her fate when he reached adulthood?

Then again, why did Abe share Henry's last name instead of Sylvia's? She had seen it on the shop's business cards when she and the unis had searched the building for a link between Henry and the subway crash. She didn't think anything of it at the time, but now…

As she approached another red light, a white van with the words "East River" written in blue caught her attention. She shook her head. Many people skinny dipped, and he seemed to have a fetish for it. Yet, why did he always select the East River, and how did he survive the currents when others didn't? And why did her fellow colleagues in patrol choose to arrest him instead of taking him to Bellevue every time that it happened?

An unbidden smile spread across Jo's face as she thought about the time that she had seen him shirtless. Whatever he was doing to stay in shape, he needed to keep doing it. Abigail had likely enjoyed his efforts, and, one day, another lucky woman would as well. She would probably finger his scar…

" _I was shot."_

Jo instantly sobered. The mysterious scar over his left breast looked nothing like the one that was on her right shoulder or like the one that should have marked his body. If she had to guess what type of weapon it had come from, she would say that it had come from a gun that she had seen in the BBC miniseries version of _Sense and Sensibility_.

She crawled through the intersection, only to find herself sitting at yet another red light. On a hunch, she reached up and placed her hand on the area that corresponded with the location of Henry's scar. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she felt the steady rhythm of her heart under her fingers.

The gunshot should have killed Henry. How could he still be alive?

Unless…

What if he was telling her the truth? What if he was really immortal?

A series of honks yanked her out of her thoughts. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and pulled away from the intersection. If she didn't get a grip on herself, she would wind up on Henry's autopsy table. She didn't want that. There was no way that she was going to add to his grief today.

She sighed as she turned toward Midtown Manhattan. Everything was still confusing to her. She hoped that the drive home to Washington Heights would provide some time to process her already churning thoughts.

* * *

Jo raced through her garage and jogged up the stairs toward her living room. Throughout the drive home, the memories of Henry's odd comments and behavior had intruded her thoughts. She had tried to push them back, but they kept coming. It had taken everything within her to concentrate on the traffic.

She threw her keys and her purse on the kitchen table before going into the living room and collapsing onto the sofa. A slight chill racked her body, and she grabbed a pillow and wrapped her arms around it in hopes of warding off the cold.

She could not possibly be thinking what she was thinking. Her partner was immortal? That he could die— _had_ died—and return to her? If she didn't know any better, she would think that she was going insane.

She looked around her living room. The townhouse was filled with memories of the way her view of life and death had been. The sofa that she and Sean had argued over while they were pulling it through the front door and had later happily collapsed on after moving in everything. The vase that he had given her for her birthday. The bed where she had felt him sleepily slipping his arm around her waist as she climbed into bed after a long, hard day at work. The bedroom where they had had their last argument. The door that she had spent almost a year expecting him to walk through and to say that he was home. The empty hallways that now echoed with her footsteps.

She reached up and wiped the tears which were freely streaming down her face. Sean had died, and he was never coming back.

Now, with one conversation, her beliefs about life and death were turned around, flipped upside-down, turned inside-out, and then shredded into confetti. Why were some people granted a second chance at life? Why was Henry allowed to come back from the dead—multiple times, according to him—while others remained in the afterlife? What was it about Sean that had kept him from receiving the same gift as Henry?

The image of Henry and Sean sharing the gift of immortality coaxed a long, deep sigh out of her. The geeky, quirky medical examiner who shied away from anything popular and the more normal assistant district attorney who couldn't resist ordering take-out, popping in a DVD, and enjoying a movie date night. She could imagine her and Sean, or even just Sean, going down to Henry's morgue and both men discussing the way that the latest victim had died. Who knew? Maybe they would have become good friends in spite of their differences.

Her throat tightened, and tears dampened the corner of her eyes. There was no way to know that for sure. Sean was gone, and he would never have the chance to meet Henry.

" _You must deal with Sean's death someday. Not tonight."_

She drew a deep breath through her clenched teeth. Henry was right, as usual. Right now, she was starting to wrap her mind around the idea that immortals walked among everyone else, and her unofficial partner for the past year was one of them.

She peered at the front door, almost as though she could see through it and find the step where they had once sat. She had almost fallen completely apart earlier in the year, and she knew that she would if she were to go it alone when it was time to deal with Sean's death. When the day would come, she would rather have a good friend by her side. Someone who had been through it years ago…someone like Henry.

" _How about centuries?_ "

" _Or just one very long one_."

Her mouth fell open. No, she was not imagining things. Henry had indeed suggested that he had been alive for centuries.

The memories of every conversation that they had ever had and everything that he had ever done in her presence danced before her. So many memories, moments that had once stood out because of the unusual nature of his comments and actions, now took on a completely new meaning. Each bit of knowledge was something that he had experienced firsthand. His knowledge of New York had come not from visits to the city but from a _life_ here. He had no sense of self-preservation because he knew that he could come back.

She gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. Each arrest for indecent exposure near the East River had marked one of his deaths.

And yet….

"You could find neither the courage nor the words to tell me?" She scoffed. "You've told me that you've had one very long life." Her breath caught in her throat as the memory of waking up to Henry at her hospital bedside and wondering how he could have survived his injuries flooded back. "You had even let me see a part of one of your deaths."

" _Henry Morgan, what's your story?"_

She bit her lower lip. What if he had been trying to tell her his story the entire time that they had known each other? Maybe she could piece together a basic outline of it using what he had told her about himself.

Energized by the idea, she pushed herself off the sofa before jogging upstairs to her bedroom. She quickly found what she needed and brought them downstairs. She set her laptop and notepad on the dining room table, took a seat, and set herself to work.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** My apologies if the opening paragraphs seem to parallel another story. It's completely unintentional.

For any nitpickers, I have deliberately decided to ignore any of Matt's tweets about the length of time that will elapse between the end of 1x22 and Henry finally revealing the truth to Jo since they do not fit the story that was in my head. This is not the first fan fic that ignores those tweets, and I'm sure that it won't be the last.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note** : Oops! I forgot my disclaimer in the last chapter! The concept, canon, and canon characters belong to _Forever_ creator Matt Miller and Warner Bros. Studios. All other characters, the plot for the story, and Henry's flashbacks are my own creation. I have posted my story here, and I don't profit from it. (Translation: I don't own _Forever_ , but if I did, we'll be starting season 4 now.)

I hope that you will enjoy it.

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

"Would you hand me the scissors?"

An uncanny silence greeted Henry's question. Concerned, he craned his neck toward Lucas. The young man stood frozen behind the overhead lamp and stared blankly at the body on their autopsy table.

Henry gently laid the Hagedorn needle next to the corpse and pivoted the rest of his body toward his assistant. "Lucas, are you all right? You haven't said anything since we've returned to the morgue."

Lucas remained motionless for a few moments before finally seemingly regaining an awareness of his surroundings. "I've never seen anyone die before." Stunned disbelief thickened his normally jovial voice. Struggling against his emotions, he swallowed. "I had always thought that it would be something cool, like a scene from one of my movies. But this…." He nodded toward the table. "I had never seen someone's life drain out of them, especially not when it's a child or a man who is old enough to be my grandfather."

"It never gets easier." He shut his eyes to stop the throbbing in his chest. For a moment, he could almost see his six-year-old sister die before his eyes once again. "And especially not when it concerns a child."

He opened his eyes, and his throat constricted. For what had seemed to be the umpteenth time, he could have sworn that he had seen Abe lying on the table instead of 73-year-old Trevor Sinclair.

He resisted the temptation to remove his gloves and rub his face. No one in either the OCME or the NYPD knew his and Abe's true connection. None of his colleagues, official or otherwise, knew that arriving at the scene of a car accident involving a young boy—Trevor's grandson, Nathan—and witnessing Trevor suffer a fatal heart attack as he had raced to the lad's side would affect him in this manner. No one even knew that he was immortal…

…except Jo.

Henry's legs buckled under him, forcing him to immediately grasp the edge of the autopsy table. Although she did not know everything, she now knew what he had kept hidden from her. He had been fortunate when he had died in Abigail's arms, but, as far as he knew, her acceptance of his condition was a very rare thing. He had thought that he had seen a glimpse of belief in Jo's eyes which had given him the courage to forge ahead and to begin to tell her everything about himself. But now….

"Hey, Morgan, are you okay?"

Henry sharply inhaled in an attempt to calm his racing heart and lifted his head toward the other medical examiner in the room. He lifted the corners of his mouth, and he hoped that the man finishing his own stitches would not notice his worries. "I'm fine, Dennis. I guess that I'm just a little fatigued today."

Dr. Dennis Thomson caught his eye. "Why don't you go home? It looks like you and Wahl are done over there."

Henry glanced back down at Trevor's body and noticed the uncut twine. "I will after I'm finished here." He turned to Lucas. "The scissors, please."

As Lucas handed him the instrument, he leaned over Henry's shoulder. "A little fatigued? An autopsy has never tired you before." He fell silent for a moment. "Did Jo kick us off of all of her cases?" He gasped. "She did, didn't she?"

Henry laid the scissors and the needle down on the tray, remove his gloves, and headed for the trash can. "She hasn't ended our partnership" _yet_.

Lucas fell in behind his boss. "Then, what's bugging you?"

Henry untied his apron, slipped it off, and threw it into the dirty linens bin. Feeling his assistant's gaze on him, he turned around and found himself almost face-to-face with the man. "It's a long story and one which I prefer not to share right now. Don't you have a body to attend to?"

Lucas threw his hands up in the air. "Okay! Don't get so testy with me! I was just trying to help!"

At the word "testy", Henry immediately recognized his curt tone and regretted it. "I'm sorry, Lucas. I—."

The younger man worriedly studied the older one. "It's been a rough few days for you, losing Abe's mom and all. Why don't you take Dr. Thomson's advice? The death certificate can wait until tomorrow."

Henry peered at the grandfather and grandson, now starting their lives together in another world. "I would rather do it now. It's no use to postpone it." Tiredness worked its way into Lucas' expression. "Why don't you go home after you finish here? You could use some rest."

The young assistant's eyes drifted off the immortal medical examiner, and he stretched and yawn. "I think I will. A shower sounds good right about now…."

A shower sounded pleasant to Henry as well. He could use the time to attempt to relax.

He watched Lucas as he began to move Trevor's body onto a gurney. Although exasperating at times, his assistant had repeatedly demonstrated an acute attention to the most minute of details, a dogged determination to pursue the truth, and an utter willingness to do whatever it took to determine a cause of death…all the hallmarks of becoming an excellent medical examiner one day. He had worried that this would have discouraged Lucas from further pursuing a career in forensic pathology, but the young man's question about their future with Jo provided a glimmer of hope for Lucas.

Well, should have provided. Henry had been pleasantly surprised when Jo had come to the shop earlier in the day, and her presence had reassured him that they would continue to work together during the foreseeable future. Yet, Lucas's assumption otherwise was now beginning to nag him.

He vigorously shook his head, almost as if he could clear his mind. He shouldn't be thinking about that now. He should wait until he returned home and ponder it then.

He slipped into his chair and huffed. Still, he wished that he knew what Jo was thinking. Perhaps her answer would both satisfy Lucas and soothe his own mind.

"Hey!"

Henry's head snapped up toward the door. Lucas wearily leaned against the threshold, his messenger bag draped over his shoulder and his MetroCard hanging around his neck.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Henry swallowed back his concerns. "Good night, Lucas."

As Lucas left the office, the immortal's eyes drifted to the two previously occupied autopsy tables, eventually landing on the one where Nathan had lain. The young boy had his whole life in front of him. Neither he nor his family deserved his life being cut short by a distracted driver who had hit the child while he was legally in the crosswalk.

He slightly smiled. He was relieved that Dennis had volunteered to take over Nathan's autopsy the moment the two bodies were rolled into the room. The rarity of handling the sudden death of a youth had roused a pair of distant memories, one which he was sure was somehow connected to Abigail, in the immortal's mind, and he had begun to lose his composure en route back to the OCME. The only thing that had prevented him from completely breaking down was Lucas' and their colleagues' presence in the area.

His gaze migrated to the table where he had been working. Although he would rule Trevor's death as a cardiac arrest, the man had died of a broken heart in reality. His life bound to the child's, he had discovered in his final moments that he could not bear life without his beloved grandson and had quickly joined him in the afterlife.

It sounded almost like someone else Henry knew. Only one of them could never die permanently.

He puffed his cheeks and sighed. He was at work. He couldn't focus on that. Not now.

Then again, he shouldn't be dwelling on that at all. The grief associated with Abigail's departure from his life had overwhelmed him and had nearly brought him to his knees. He could not even begin to imagine how Abe's impending death would affect him.

He slapped his hands on his desk. The sound of wood echoing in the now quiet room drew him out of his distressing thoughts. He peered into the autopsy room one more time. As he had promised Lucas and Dennis, he would finish his work so that he could return home and get some rest. He opened the top right drawer, found the necessary form, and fill it out.

* * *

Henry briefly checked his pocket watch and yawned. He didn't notice how late it had become for a day off. Perhaps it was in his best interests to return home.

He filed the final piece of paper into the folder and set it on top of the pile on his desk. He had intended to only fill out Trevor's death certificate, but it had been instinctive to complete the report as well. Lucas might chastise him in the morning, but at least it was done.

He quickly exchanged coats and peeked out of the window. Abe preferred for him to take the subway or a cab home; it was simpler to use the route or the cab number as a starting point in case he had run into foul play. The evening, however, promised to be quite pleasant, with clear skies which revealed a rare glimpse of the moon and comfortable temperatures. After everything that had occurred, a walk in the relatively fresh air would do him some good.

He strolled through the autopsy room and hallway. As he approached the elevator, he sighted Dennis, and Dr. Washington in the hallway. Having no desire for a distraction, he punched the up button. He shoved his hands into his pockets and began to impatiently tap his foot in hopes of appearing to be lost in his own world.

"Do you have any idea why Detective Martinez was here a couple of days ago? She seemed pretty upset when she brushed by me."

Dr. Washington's observations froze Henry's blood. Why would they chose _that_ as their latest topic of gossip? Unless….

The walls suddenly started to close in on him. He needed to get out of the building— _now_.

"I see Morgan." Dennis' voice sounded almost enthusiastic. "He might know."

 _Where is that elevator?_ "Come on." Henry hissed through partially clenched teeth.

"Dr. Morgan."

At Dr. Washington's greeting, Henry quickly schooled his features and faced the two men. "Gentlemen. What could I do for you?"

Dennis caught his attention. "When Detective Martinez was here last time, she seemed angry. Did she say anything to you about the reason why?"

His nervousness snaked around his lungs, wrapped itself around them like an ouroboros, and threatened to squeeze the air out of him. "I have no idea. She hasn't mentioned it to me. Perhaps her partner had interrupted her while she was attempting to learn more about Lucas' and my findings during our latest case."

Dr. Washington's dark stare bore through Henry. "When she had passed by me in the hallway upstairs, she was muttering something about a _pugio_ being stolen from the evidence room." He peered deep into the immortal's eyes. "If you had anything to do with it—."

Just as a sense of panic began to tighten its grip on Henry, the elevator bell rang, and the doors opened. He stepped into the car and held his hand on the door.

"I would really like to continue this conversation, but I must be going. My roommate is expecting me, and I don't want to keep him waiting." He quickly removed his hand, stepped back, and kept his eyes trained on the surprised doctors.

As the doors slid closed, Henry rested his head against a wall. _Where were you when I needed you?_

He forced himself to take several deep breaths to release the panic's hold on him. He had known that Jo had come to the morgue to warn Lucas that she would consider pressing charges of tampering with evidence and obstruction of justice against either of them if she were to discover that the _pugio_ had gone missing. Yet, he had thought that they were the only ones who had known about it. Now…

The elevator doors opened, revealing the OCME's and NYPD's joint corridor. Henry gingerly stepped out of the car, shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, and started toward the exit. A few steps later, he stopped and spun around. Perhaps he should just hail a cab. The quicker that he could leave the building, the better.

He proceeded through the 11th Precinct's exit, stepped onto the curb, and raised his hand. As the nearby cab started to pull up, the driver's black leather page-boy cap instantly shone out in the darkness.

He dropped his hand and braced himself. The last time that he had seen Adam—yesterday morning at the start of visiting hours for Bellevue's neurological unit—the older immortal had appeared quite healthy for someone who was suffering from locked-in syndrome. How did his condition deteriorate so rapidly?

Fortunately, the taxi turned and disappeared down the cross-street. Henry heaved a sigh of relief. If it were truly Adam, he would have ignored Henry's dropped arm.

The sounds of joyful conversations grew louder around him. He looked around and recognized many of his and Jo's colleagues. Several, including Hanson, walked in the direction of McSorley's while others moved toward the nearby subway stop. A few playfully jostled each other as they set off for the apartments in the distance.

He kept his eyes on Hanson and his friends. Spending the evening out with friends had been a major part of his life years ago. Until recently, he had primarily shied away from public gatherings, save for only dates and family dinners. It took his kidnapping and Jo's genuine curiosity and concern about him then to convince him to join her, Hanson, and Lucas for drinks both at McSorley's and later at the karaoke bar, and he had found himself enjoying their company. To his surprise, it seemed as though they were enjoying his as well.

" _If they knew more about you, their opinion would change."_

He swallowed. Now, someone did. Someone he deeply cared about.

His legs tightened, threatening to buckle under him once again. Since he was outside, it was best if he started walking. Perhaps it would help him clear his mind.

* * *

Henry smiled as he neared the back of the antique shop. The walk had worked wonders. The concerns which he had had earlier felt so far away. All he wanted was to see Abe, get a hot shower, and eat some dinner.

He let out a yawn, and each step became more of a trudge. He had not perceived how physically drained he was. Perhaps he should turn in early as well.

He rounded the corner and pulled the door. When it failed to open, he fished his new spare set of keys out of his pocket, let himself in, checked the sign, and locked the door. The moment that he turned around, his eyes landed on his and Abe's chess game. Their interruption felt as though it had occurred months ago. He should make it up to Abe within the next few days.

He wove his way through the shop and headed up the stairs. With each step, the mouth-watering smell of freshly-baked blueberry scones wafted down and encouraged him to quicken his pace. He reached the top of the stairs, and his eyes travelled to a plate filled with the tempting dessert.

He took one, bit into it, and closed his eyes in delight as the treat's crumbs and sweetness filled his mouth. He would ordinarily discourage both himself and Abe from eating snacks before dinner. This was one time that he could make an exception.

He looked up to see where Abe was, and a shock of grayish-white hair in the living room attracted his attention. Abe slumped on the sofa, his chin touching his chest. The book that he had been reading had fallen to the floor, and his reading glasses were close to joining it.

Henry swallowed the bite in his mouth. How could he not see how the events of the past couple of weeks have taken their toll on his son? He had been so focused on learning the truth about Abigail's disappearance that he hadn't noticed the subtle signs that the emotional strain might have been too much for Abe.

He quickly finished the scone, went to Abe's room, and took his son's blanket and pillow. Once back in the living room, he set everything down, picked up the fallen items, and set them on the coffee table.

As he moved the blanket, a corner brushed across Abe, causing the young man to rouse. "Pops, you're home. Did you find the scones?"

Henry smiled. "I have, and I've already had one."

"I thought that you could use some comfort food after everything that has happened today."

"I appreciate the gesture."

Abe rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"

Henry quickly checked his pocket watch. "7:15 in the evening."

"Do you want some dinner?" Abe started to push himself up off the sofa.

Henry placed both hands on the young man's shoulders. "I'll get it myself." He looked his drowsy son in the eye. "Go back to sleep."

As Abe settled back down, Henry stretched him out on the sofa and covered him up. Abe's hand grasped the edge of the blanket, and, after Henry's gentle kiss on the head, he shut his eyes again.

The older man shook his head in amazement. How many times had he put his son to bed? Special occasions, illnesses, nightmares, both divorces from Maureen Delacroix, learning that they shared an ancestor…each moment becoming something that he now treasured and would treasure forever.

There were only two times in which he had thought that he would never do it again. The first was….

Memories of that period finally surfaced and mingled with more recent ones. Henry rubbed his face and rested both hands on his mouth. He hadn't thought of that in a very long time. The day's events must have brought it back.

Feeling uneasy about his memories, he broke his gaze. It drifted down to the black-and-white photograph on the coffee table. He couldn't believe that Abigail had kept it with her after she had left them; he had always supposed that she had angrily discarded it after discovering it in her purse. Nor could he believe that Jo would be the one to return it to him.

At the thought of the young woman, his throat tightened. He could not avoid telling her the truth much longer. She had come to him seeking answers, answers which….

He closed his eyes and willed himself to breathe. Once he started to feel somewhat calmer, he headed for the bathroom. Perhaps a shower was in order.

He quickly stripped his clothes off, stepped into the retrofitted shower, and turned on the water. As the hot water ran over him, his chaotic thoughts fled, and the tension which he was feeling flowed out of him and into the drain.

After the shower, he trudged back into the room. The bed invited him to forget his plans for the rest of the night.

He yawned. He was more tired than he had thought. He should go to bed.

He pulled some fresh clothes out of the drawers and set them on top. As he pulled his boxer shorts up, the image of his scar caught his attention. He reached up and fingered it. Even after 200 years, he still couldn't believe that his life would have no end.

" _If they knew more about you, their opinion would change."_

Henry pulled his mouth tight as Adam's voice rang in his ears. The other immortal knew that his condition was why he had refused to let anyone into his life with the exceptions of Abigail and Abe…and now Jo.

" _Someday, you'll let me in when you're ready."_

" _Henry, tell us everything. No more secrets."_

The air rushed out of the room. Henry instinctively grasped the drawers. Everyone expected him to be open about his life, but he always had kept it hidden out of necessity. With Jo, though, he had unexpectedly found his reluctance to tell her the truth about himself decreasing with each passing day, but he could never bring himself to say the words. He wasn't ready to let her in at Christmas, and he certainly had not felt ready to let her see who and what he was when she had arrived at the shop earlier this afternoon.

Yet, it was becoming increasingly impossible to maintain the charade that he was like everyone else. The past few cases had hit too close to home, and he had feared that Jo and Hanson would stumble upon the truth during three of them. During the latest one, Adam had forced him to choose between keeping his condition a secret and saving Jo's life.

" _When you suffer from our condition, you realize murder, it's just a part of life."_

" _Revenge is a long game…."_

" _This is obsessive, even for you."_

" _I_ _gave him the coffee. You put that on_ _me_ _."_

" _If you had something to do with it—."_

He tried to draw some air into his lungs. He was a healer—a doctor—and it was his duty to preserve life. Yet, he had taken a life once, and he had almost taken another recently. He had attempted to convince himself that he was merely an aggrieved husband attempting to avenge his wife's death and that his actions were consistent with similarly accepted practices within the law enforcement community. In his heart, however, he had known that he should have told Jo about Adam and let her find a way to bring him to justice. Now, she had every reason to no longer trust him ever again.

" _What are you willing to do to keep your secret?"_

" _And that remains my opinion, but…"_

" _Not your principle. I thought that you were a good man."_

A sudden burst of energy coursed through him. Had he really followed in his father's footsteps? His father, a man who had railed against slavery, had chosen to take countless men, women, and children away from their homes and their lives against their wills and to force them to toil for others…all in the name of maintaining the Morgan family's livelihood and of making profits for Morgan Shipping's investors. His father's engagement in the abominable practice was the one thing that had kept him from ever thinking that his father was a good man.

Could the same be said of him? Looking back, he was beginning to feel that it could. He had always valued honesty and doing no one any harm, and he had always tried to abide by his principles. Over the course of his long life, though, he had violated them repeatedly. He had at times resorted to theft to get what he had needed. He had quit his job in a hospital numerous times, leaving his patients without the medical assistance that he had given them. His condition had forced his wife and son to deny their relationship to him and everything about their previous lives every time that they had moved or as they aged. He had lied to his assistant, to his unofficial partners, and to his unofficial superior about being a victim in the fatal train crash almost a year ago and about being in the sunken cab at Christmas. He had lied to Jo about his stalker's true identity. He had attempted to sabotage her most recent case, and he, by his example, had convinced Lucas to steal the _pugio_ from the evidence room at the price of his job.

A good man would not do those things. He would always encourage himself and others to tell the truth and to be their real selves. He would work to obtain things through the proper channels, and he would wait if he were unable to immediately obtain it. He would remain at his job for as long as others needed him. A good man would allow the police to do their jobs, and he would stay out of their way, save to provide evidence and testimony which would help them solve their cases.

Was it too late for him? Had he hurt irrevocably others…?

" _What exactly are you afraid of?"_

" _Someone getting hurt…because of me."_

His throat dried out, and, hoping to moisten it, he swallowed. Because of him, he had killed an innocent man whom he had erroneously believed had threatened Abe's life. Because of him, a federal judge had been physically assaulted. Because of him, a security guard had almost lost his life. Because of him, Abigail had been forced to decide between her life and his when they both had been threatened. Because of him, their son had been cheated out of a normal life. Because of him, a 2,000-year-old, psychopathic immortal targeted innocent people while trying to find a way out of his condition. Because of him, Lucas now faced criminal charges for something that should have never happened.

Because of his secret, Jo now faced the loss of her job, one which had given her a sense of purpose. Because of his secret, he had broken Jo's trust in him, and he had likely squelched any of her feelings for him. Because of his secret, they would never work together again, and she would never know the real him.

" _Let's say that one of these cockamamie experiments really works. I mean, would you really do it? Do you want to be gone that badly?"_

" _I believe that the only thing that can kill us is the weapon that made us this way."_

" _This gun can end your life."_

" _Wouldn't it be ironic if, this time, I actually die?"_

He sniffled and wiped his face. Because of his secret, he had nearly lost his life forever.

What if Adam's theory had been right? What if he had died a couple of days ago? Was he really willing to leave Abe and Jo with the pain that he saw daily? To force them to feel the same grief that he felt every time that he had thought about a loved one or friend who had departed years or even centuries ago? They both had lost loved ones fairly recently. Did he want to cause them to lose another?

He studied his reflection in the mirror. While lying in the abandoned subway tunnel, he had been sure that he would never do any of this again. Yet, much like his first death 200 years ago, he had been given another chance to live.

" _Appreciate the present, focus on cheerier things."_

A piece of him really wanted to use this new opportunity to do just that. That part of him wanted to set things right with Jo, Lucas, and the NYPD, wanted to see him determine the purpose of his life, wanted to discover where his life would take him next, wanted to see if he and Jo….

" _You're my friend, my partner, and someone I care very deeply about."_

" _Whatever feelings I have for Jo…"_

" _You're not the same man…."_

" _I trusted you!"_

" _There is someone out there for all those breakfasts and dinners."_

" _I've already found him. Now he's gone."_

The tears began to come back. Life had never worked out the way that he had expected. Nora had betrayed him when he had told her what had happened aboard _The Empress_. He had always thought that he and Abigail would enjoy the rest of her life together, but she had died before she could tell him that she had always felt the same way. Today's autopsies had reminded him that he had only a few more years left with Abe. As for Jo, she thought of him as a criminal at best, and she likely believed him to be mad. If, by some impossible chance, she felt neither way, their relationship, whatever remained of it, would never be the same.

" _I like what I've found here in New York. Working with Jo….I'd hate to lose that."_

Two weeks ago, he had had the closest thing to a normal life, something that he had not had in a very long while. Even though Adam had threatened them, he and Abe had enjoyed a pleasant daily routine punctuated by the occasional death and required trip to either the East River or the detention complex. He had found himself enjoying his work with both the OCME and the NYPD. Lucas and Hanson were becoming the closest things to friends that he had. He always had an affection for Jo, but, recently, he had discovered that he was developing some very strong feelings for her, feelings that indicated that he might one day find himself unwilling to live this part of his life without her.

But now….

" _Your life is over."_

Henry's heart started to race, his legs abruptly tensed, and the walls of the antiques shop began to close in on him. In the next instant, everything became an enormous blur. Occasionally, something would bring him out of his haze, but neither his words nor his actions truly registered in his mind.

Eventually, the fog in his mind cleared just enough to allow him to see that he was in a bedroom. He wearily found the bed and collapsed onto it. The next thing that he knew, he was drifting off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The rock lyrics, the acoustic guitar, and the masculine, dulcet voice drowned out the classical music playing in the background and jarred Jo so violently that it forced her to open her eyes. Nothing looked familiar at first, but, as each second passed, it registered that she was still in her bedroom. She pulled her pillow over her ears and shut her eyes. If she could just go back to sleep, she might be able to return to her dream and finish it before she had to report to work.

As the song continued, the lyrics proved to be too distracting. Jo sighed; she was wide awake now. She pushed herself up, slapped the snooze button, and glared at her alarm clock. She should take it to the Hudson River and throw it into the water. On second thought, she should shoot it first and then take it to the river. That way, there was no chance of it interrupting her ever again.

She reluctantly rose from her bed and headed to the bathroom. She was really enjoying her dream. In it, she had reported to work one morning, only to find that the floor had been transformed into a Regency era ballroom. All of the women wore ball dresses—and Lt. Reece uncharacteristically in high-heels—while the men, including Lucas, were decked out in tailcoats, breeches, and Wellington boots. In the middle of the room stood Henry, looking at her in much the same way that he had when they had babysat the prince of Urkesh. She embarrassingly tried to tell him that she wasn't properly dressed for the occasion and that she couldn't dance. He tenderly reassured her that she looked just fine and that they wouldn't worry about the proper steps. At that moment, he extended his hand to her. Just as the alarm sounded, she had taken his hand, and they had begun to waltz.

She smiled at the image of Henry in her dream. He looked hotter than a wet-shirted Colin Firth with his hair grown out and dressed in his gray tailcoat, pantaloons, and a cravat elegantly tied around his neck.

She sighed as she reentered the hallway. If someone were to mention it two weeks ago, she would have denied her attraction to Henry while secretly admitting that the person was right. Now, they had to rebuild their friendship before they could think of anything else.

She ran her hand through her hair. She didn't remember putting her new copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ into the DVD player last night, or had she? It felt so far away.

She stepped into the living room, walked over to the television set, and pushed the button for the DVD player. Her eyes narrowed in curiosity at the sight of the empty slot. If she wasn't watching it, then what had prompted the dream?

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something unusual in the dining room. She looked up, and her eyes widened at the sight of her laptop sitting just the way that she had left it for the night.

Everything came back to her, and her breath caught in her throat. She wasn't having a Jane Austen fangirl's dream. She was into her first day of knowing that her partner was immortal.

She walked over to the table and studied the pad. A few things about Henry's life now made sense. From what she could tell, he was between 216 and 315 years old and was likely born in England. He had indeed been shot years ago, and it was in that moment that he had become immortal and had stopped aging. Every time that he died since then, his watch was left behind for whatever reason, but the rest of his clothes mysteriously disappeared. Before his current life in New York, he had lived here in the late 1800s to early 1900s, spending time in Alphabet City and Morningside Heights, and his arrest records likely dated back to that period. He was a practicing doctor until he gave it up to become a grave digger and then a medical examiner. At some point, he had met Sylvia and Abe, and the photograph was likely of them. He had become quite close to them, and he had remained close to Abe after Sylvia had left them. He later had met Abigail, had introduced her to Abe, and had married her. From the way that Henry had talked about her, they were happy for some time, but she had left him. Sometime later, as demonstrated by his arrest record that she and Mike had found during that case, he was a victim in the train crash in which he and Jo had met.

Jo heaved a deep sigh. She had hoped that creating an outline of his life would help her make complete sense of him, but it had generated more questions than answers. For starters, she didn't know exactly how old he was or when he had died for the first time. She had no idea why he didn't see his immortality as a blessing. He knew quite a bit about the world, but she wondered how much had come from first-hand experience and how much had been something that he had read about. What she had deduced rendered parts of his records false, but which parts of it were real? Then again, was the story about Abigail buying his watch at an auction and giving it to him true?

She also couldn't figure out his stalker's connection to him was or why he had looked so terrified when CSU had finished processing the shop after he had killed Clark Walker in self-defense. She didn't know how _The Empress of Africa_ was connected to him. She couldn't understand why the first time that she had heard of Sylvia Blake was two weeks ago. She knew nothing about what he was even thinking when he had stolen the _pugio_ from the evidence room, who was in the subway tunnel with him, or what exactly had happened in it.

Then, there was Abigail. Jo had always believed that Henry's wife was about her age, but she wasn't sure anymore. He had said that he and Abigail had passed through Urkesh during their honeymoon aboard the Orient Express. Yet, according to Wikipedia, the railroad had halted service to the country during its revolution...in 1956. Did that mean that Abigail was older than she had believed? If so, why…?

Jo sighed out of frustration. She didn't even know why Henry hadn't said that he was immortal sooner. With everything that he had told her, she would have believed him, right?

She shook her head. She wouldn't have. She would have told him that he was crazy, and she might have sent him to Bellevue. And their relationship would have likely ruined then.

She momentarily closed her eyes to hide the notepad and to stop her guilt. If she wanted answers, she would have to ask Henry her questions when she saw him again.

She quickly gathered everything and took them up to the bedroom with her. She should stop by the morgue to see how he was doing. He was quite upset when she had left the shop yesterday afternoon, and she wouldn't be able to focus on her work until she knew that he was okay.

When she reached the door, she heard her cell phone ring. She kicked the door open, threw everything onto her bed, and picked up the device. She wrinkled her eyebrows. Why were Henry and Abe calling her this early in the morning? If anything, she was always calling the shop or Abe's phone if she needed one of them.

Her heart unexpectedly fluttering, she answered it just as it rang again. "Hello?"

"Jo?" Abe's worried voice caused her heart to race. "Is Pops—Is Henry with you?"

" _Pops"?!_

Her jaw dropped open, and her eyes widened. _Unh-unh. No way_. _That_ _cannot_ _be possible_.

 _Abe's Henry's_ _son_ _?!_

How…? Abe looked old enough to be her father, and Henry looked like he was in his mid-30s or very early 40s when he had died the first time.

Her eyes darted around the room. As crazy as it sounded—even crazier than Henry being immortal—that would explain both Henry and Abe's relationship and Henry's relationship with Sylvia.

Her stomach began to churn at the memory of her ME affectionately calling Sylvia Abe's mother. It was no wonder that he had been upset during the past two weeks. He had spent years thinking that his wife had left him because she didn't love him. He had no idea that she had killed herself shortly after being rescued from a car crash. If he had believed at one point that she was dead, then he had had to bury her all over again, this time literally.

But, why was he deeply affected by Sylvia's death? He had acted as though Abigail's disappearance had cut him to the core.

Her eyes widened. Since he and Abigail had been married before 1956, was there a possibility that Abigail and Sylvia…?

Remembering the man on the other end of the line, she pushed her questions aside. She could check that theory out at work. "No. I'm at home right now. What's wrong?"

"Hen—."

She raised her hand in the air. "Abe, it's me you're talking to. You can call Henry 'Pops' around me."

She shook her head. She could not have just said that.

"What?" Abe's voice thickened in disbelief. "How…?"

"I took your advice and thought about it. As crazy as his story sounds, I _do_ believe him." She ran her hand through her hair. "What happened? Isn't he at the shop?"

"He wasn't up when I woke up this morning. I went to his bedroom to see if he was still asleep, but he wasn't there."

"Maybe he had leave for work early, and he didn't want to wake you up." As far as she knew, it wouldn't be the first time that it happened.

"I—It's not like him to not be here for breakfast the morning after a morning or afternoon shift." His voice quivered as he spoke. "I don't know what has happened to him. I even checked the river for him, but he wasn't there."

She buried her head in her head. What had happened to Henry yesterday? Did someone fatally injured him while he was en route to work? Why hadn't anyone told her about it like they did his first arrest for indecent exposure at Christmas?

His statement that he didn't want to live forever returned. Her throat dried out. What happened to cause him to be willing to kill himself to escape whatever pain that he was feeling?

 _Wait. Another swim for whatever reason means another arrest._

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'll see if the unis had picked him up before you got there. In the meantime, when was the last time that you saw him?"

Abe fell silent for a moment. "About 7:15 last night. He had come home from the scene that he had to go to."

"How was he at the time?"

"H—He seemed quite fine. I don't know. I was half-asleep." He wryly chuckled. "He did have one of the blueberry scones that I had baked for him. Some comfort food after everything that had happened."

Jo smiled. Now she knew what Henry's favorite dessert was.

"Jo," Abe pleaded. "You have to find him."

She inhaled and gathered her thoughts. "I'll check with Lucas in case Henry went to work early. I was thinking about visiting the morgue anyway to check up on him."

"Okay. Call me when you find something."

She quickly agreed and hung up the phone. Why was she getting a bad feeling about this?

Her stomach started to churn again. The last time that Abe had called her and had mentioned that Henry was missing, Cliff Wadlow had kidnapped and tortured him. If they hadn't stopped him when they had, Cliff would have inadvertently outed Henry to the entire NYPD.

Given Henry's tendency to find trouble…

She raced for her closet. Unless she could find him at work or at the detention center, he was likely in trouble… _now_.

* * *

Jo emerged from the elevator and quickly covered the distance between the car and Henry's office, all the while keeping an eye out for him. She huffed as she neared the autopsy room. As far as she could tell, he was nowhere in sight.

She stepped into the room and walked over to the table where he usually worked. It was still a little difficult to believe that he would never lay on one unless, if for some weird, disgusting reason, he wanted to catch a quick nap. To her, even if she wasn't necessarily a believer, his existence was a miracle.

Tears misting her eyes, she eased into Henry's office and closed the door behind her to find some privacy. For some reason, the idea of him seeing his life as a curse was hitting her hard. She wished that she knew some way to let him see how precious his life was.

She stepped over to the bookcase and tenderly glided her fingers over the carefully maintained leather-bound spines. She had been in this room many times for cases, but she had never actually noticed them. Curious, she selected one and carefully opened it. Her eyes widened in surprise as she read the date. Did he find it at a second-hand book store, or did he buy it when it had first been published in the 19th century?

Her breath caught in her throat as she shelved the book and looked around the office. How could she not have noticed this about him? Their conversations were always about what he had thought or felt. Why hadn't she thought of asking him about his belongings?

She felt the corners of her mouth tug up at the last thought. He might have hidden the facts of his life from her, but he hadn't been afraid to show her his mind and a piece of his heart. Given how rare it was for him to trust anyone, she should consider it to be a privilege that he was willing to share that much of himself to her.

Expecting Henry to walk through the door at any minute, she peered out of the glass in time to see Lucas, dressed in his blue scrub top and black pants, appear in the autopsy room's threshold. He gaped and froze as she eased out of the office.

He threw his hands in the air, almost as if he was shielding himself from her wrath. "If you're here to arrest Henry, don't. Stealing the dagger was my idea. Henry had nothing to do with it. In fact, I had to convince him to go to his desk and get it—."

Lucas' confession felt nice, but she was becoming more worried about Henry. "We'll talk about that later." She needed to figure out what to do about the incident first; she couldn't arrest Lucas if Henry was indeed being blackmailed. "Where's Henry?"

Lucas squinted at her. "Isn't he with you?"

She rolled her eyes. What made him think that?

Remembering her promise to Abe, she sighed. "Abe called me this morning and said that he wasn't at the shop for breakfast. I thought that he would be here."

"Didn't he make it home last night?"

"He had. That's what makes this so frustrating." She bit her lower lip in thought. "What happened at the scene yesterday?"

Lucas felt for a table and leaned his long frame against it, pushing a microscope with his elbow back in the process. "We were called to the scene of an eight-year-old boy who was involved in a hit-and-run at Bowery and Howard. His granddad came out of one of the apartments, saw his grandson, and died in front of us. He—." He suddenly stepped closer and lowered his voice. "He said that he was a little fatigued, but I thought that he was worried about you, him, and the dagger."

She swallowed. She didn't think that Henry would be afraid of how she would react if she knew the truth about what had happened in the tunnel.

Lucas' lowered voice finally registered. "Why are you whispering?"

"Oh!" He whispered. "The cloak and da—."

"Detective Martinez."

She groaned and turned toward the voice. "Dr. Washington, what do you want?"

As he strutted down the aisle leading to Henry's office, each step propelled her between the tables to block the doctor's path. "I overheard you saying something about the evidence room a couple of days ago, and I wanted to see if you needed any _real_ assistance since the matter obviously concerned Dr. Morgan."

She bristled at his implication. "Look." She quickly softened her voice slightly. "If I want to know about that, I would ask you. Otherwise, what I said is none of your business."

He squared his shoulders and stared her in the eye. "Be careful who you keep company with. You will become like them."

Her blood began to boil. "Henry Morgan is a good and decent man. I rather have him as my ME instead of you. Now, if you excuse me…."

She brushed past the surly doctor and headed for the elevators. Behind her, she heard Lucas smugly tell the other medical examiner, "She told you, didn't she?"

She grinned. Telling Dr. Washington off felt so good…

…for a moment. As the reason for her visit came back to her, she punched the up button and briefly closed her eyes. She strained to hear Henry's voice and footsteps in the hallway. She hoped that he had headed to the OCME's break room to get some coffee.

She opened her eyes just as the elevator bell rang. She gave the hallway one last look as she entered the car. Her heart broke when she had recognized everyone else but not her ME.

The elevator rose, causing her heart to sink. It wasn't like Henry to suddenly not show up for work without telling anyone. When he had decided to go to Tarrytown, he had at least told Lucas that he was taking some time off. Why hadn't he told his assistant anything about this?

When she reached her floor, her pace quickened. She found herself literally praying that the unis had found Henry naked and had taken him to Lt. Reece. If he hadn't been thinking straight beforehand, she hoped that the river had acted like a bucket of ice-cold water being poured over his head. If, for some reason, she couldn't find him, she didn't want to think about what was happening to him.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** The music for Jo and Henry's waltz is James Platts' "The Prince's Waltz".


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note** : I had to split this off Chapter 3 because I didn't realize how long the chapter (nearly 6,600 words!) was until I began editing.

I hope that you will enjoy it.

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

Jo peered through the open blinds of Lieu's office, scanned the bullpen and sighed. She could see no sign of Henry anywhere. Where could he be?

"What's wrong?"

Jo startled at the sound of Mike's voice. "Noth—." She stopped herself and swallowed to regain control over her waving voice. "Have you seen Henry either last night or this morning?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I think that I saw him hailing a taxi and then deciding against it last night. Why do you ask?"

She stared at him. Her stomach churned at the thought of lying to him. He was her partner, and they told each other almost everything. She had driven a nervous Mike to the hospital when Karen had gone into labor with their youngest son Matt. He had encouraged her to start dating Sean, and he and Karen had served as witnesses when she and Sean had gotten married at the judicial building. Mike was the one who had discovered that she had not come to work when she had learned that Sean had died and had alerted Lt. Roarke of her absence. He and Karen had remained by her side as she had dazedly watched her husband's funeral. Recently, her official partner had tolerated their duo becoming a group with the addition of Henry and Lucas. Surely, he would _know_ that she wasn't being honest with him.

Still, she couldn't hide everything from him. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

Jo grabbed his shoulder and steered him toward Lieu's office. "It will be easier if I told both you and Lieu at once."

"Well, would you loosen your grip on my shoulder? You're killing me."

She quickly released it. "I didn't know that—."

"Does this have anything to do with Doc?"

She pulled a breath through her teeth. "It just might."

She sped through Lt. Reece's door and stepped up to her desk. Lieu lifted her head from her paperwork. "Jo, what is it?"

Jo swallowed. She had asked Lieu to trust her every time that Henry had suggested a theory that didn't mesh with conventional police thinking. She didn't know how much longer she could press her luck, especially after the last case. She couldn't imagine what would happen if Lt. Reece said no.

Then again, she had put this on herself. She could have told Henry that he was no longer welcomed to join her on cases. She could have reported him to his boss and have Dr. Lippmann reprimand him. She could have arrested him for obstruction of justice.

Yet, she had no desire to do any of those. At first, she had believed it was because they made a good team and that he produced results. She had soon realized that she really enjoyed his company, and, just a few short months later, she had found herself wanting to get lost in Paris with him.

She inwardly groaned. What she wouldn't give to get that back. She would sacrifice—.

"Jo?"

Lieu eyed the younger woman. Jo took a moment to gather her courage. "Something's happened to Henry."

Lt. Reece arched her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"I went to his place yesterday to confront him about the _pugio_." Jo trained her eyes on her boss and hoped that she wasn't showing any signs of nervousness. "He started to tell me what had happened during our last case," or she hoped that he would have. "Anyway, we were interrupted by a call for him and Lucas to report to the scene of a fatal accident. This morning, Abe noticed that Henry wasn't in their apartment, and Lucas hasn't seen him downstairs."

Mike placed both hands on his hips. "Are you sure that he's not in the morgue? I mean, he could have gotten himself a cup of coffee from the breakroom and had an early meeting with his boss."

She shook her head. "Lucas would have told me if he had one." Lucas could tell her everything he knew if she gave him the chance. "And something tells me that he would have told Abe about it if it were arranged in advanced."

"Jo," Lt. Reece's authoritative voice forced the detective to look at her. "Do you think that your personal friendship with him is interfering with your professional judgment? After all, he _has_ stolen something out of the evidence room and tried to sabotage your latest investigation. He knows that his credibility is now challenged, and he may have fled…"

The images of Henry's and Abe's suitcases and passports waiting for their owners next to the door of the shop and Henry's satchel on his desk flashed before Jo. She closed her eyes to block out Lieu's reaction. Why didn't she and Abe think of that earlier?

She opened her eyes to find Lieu staring at her. It didn't matter whether Lieu was playing the devil's advocate or if she sincerely believed that Henry was guilty of something. She could not stand there and do nothing to help Henry if he was indeed in trouble.

Jo locked eyes with her boss. "Remember when Henry told us that he had a stalker?"

Lt. Reece nodded.

"Do you remember how terrified he looked when he was telling us what happened?"

"Yes," Lieu drawled out the word. "But I don't see what you're getting at."

Jo leaned on the chair in front of her. "I think that he's been blackmailed, and he knows who it is." Her eyes darted between the two investigators. "When I followed him the other day, he disappeared into one of the abandoned tunnels like he was going to meet someone there. A few minutes later, I heard two voices coming from one of the air vent between the platforms, but both Henry and whoever it was had disappeared before I arrived."

Her stomach churned. Lying to Lieu about Abe's involvement in his and Henry's break-in of Isaac's warehouse was one thing. If Lieu discovered that she was lying about what she had seen in the abandoned tunnel _and_ if she wanted to press charges against Henry, she could lose everything.

"Why do you think he would run? He could have told us about his blackmailer. Doesn't he remember that he's one of us?"

As the tension drained from Jo, worry replaced it. "I don't know." She started to close her eyes again when something jarred her memory. "Maybe he felt that his blackmailer was threatening us as well, and he felt that leaving was the only way to protect us."

She instantly hated herself. Henry had been genuinely worried about the idea of his stalker being their suspect during the Raj Patel case, and, for whatever reason, he was terrified that she could have been hurt or killed during the search for Blair Dryden and Xavier deSoto's killer. He might resent her for using his concerns as an explanation of his current behavior if he would to find out about this conversation.

"You hope that he can confirm it?"

Jo cocked her head. How did Lieu read her earlier thoughts? "Yes."

Mike mirrored Jo's posture. "You don't suppose that he has been kidnapped?"

She turned to him. "That's one more thing that I'm considering. In any case, I'm supposed to call Abe if I find Henry."

"In the meantime," Lieu peered at them. "We treat this as both a kidnapping and a missing person's case, and we'll keep it among ourselves. Pull the footage from the red-light cameras near the shop. Something should be on them."

As they turned to leave, Jo felt Lieu's stare boring into her. She slowly turned back to the other woman.

Lieu's gaze softened, and she folded her hands in front of her. "Is there anything that you would like to talk about?"

Jo huffed. "I just want to find Henry."

"We will find him." She then squared her shoulders and smiled. "If we find his blackmailer as well, I _will_ enjoy every second that we hold him until he lawyers up."

Jo grinned and ducked her head to try to hide it. "Thanks."

"Let me know if you find anything."

As Jo left the office, she glanced back over her shoulder. Lieu shuffled some papers and reached for the phone. Jo smiled. She was fortunate that Lieu had believed her.

The moment that she returned to her seat, Mike rose from his seat, planted his hands on her desk, and leaned forward. "You said that you heard two voices in the tunnel the other day. What were they talking about?"

"I didn't really hear what they were saying." Her stomach churned. She couldn't tell him that she had seen Henry with only the dagger and a capped needle and that she had heard two gunshots instead of voices. Mike would never believe her story, even if it was the truth.

Mike dropped his head and considered her words. When he looked up at her again, he scoffed. "Is it me, or is 'trouble' Doc's middle name?"

She started to laugh, but her heart seized within her chest. She didn't know if Henry had a middle name or what it was.

After Mike returned to his desk, she bit her lower lip in thought. There were so many clues in the Raj Patel case that didn't make sense. Henry was uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn at the scene of the sunken cab. There were scratch marks in the back seat indicating that someone was unsuccessfully trying to escape the vehicle while it sunk, but no body was ever recovered. Although she was wearing gloves, she could feel water on Henry's watch. Also why had a cab sunk off Pier 40 but its driver had found dead on dry land…halfway across town? At the same time, Henry was arrested for indecent exposure once again. Now since she knew that Henry was immortal….

Wanting to confirm her suspicions, she quickly located the file on her computer and looked over it. She noted both Raj's time of death and the location of his last report to the cab company. She then located Henry's arrest record from that period in the NYPD's database and read over it.

She closed her eyes and fought back her nausea. Henry had been kidnapped and had drowned then; that was why she had found his watch in the back seat. She was standing right there seconds before he had climbed into that cab. If only she had stayed a few moments longer and had looked in the vehicle, she might have been able to see Raj's killer…and Henry's. If she had become suspicious, she could have stopped him from ever driving off with Henry. Maybe he wouldn't have had to die that night if she had intervened.

She stared at the screen. Where was the culprit? CSU hadn't found anything stuck under the brakes, and, in the couple of cases in which she had seen a sunken vehicle, they had found the driver dead in the front seat. Yet, the only thing that they had found was an antique gun in the river near the spot where Henry had been arrested for indecent exposure for the second time within 24 hours. How did the driver manage to escape in time?

"How is Abe taking it?"

Jo jerked at Mike's question. She eyed her official partner as she closed the window. "Not great."

"He's really worried, isn't he?"

She smiled at the empathy in Mike's voice. "Yeah, Henry's like family to him."

"That explains a lot." He laid his hands on his lap. "I've always felt a little sorry for Doc. He's never mentioned anything about his family, and he has always seemed to be lonely. I was wondering if there was anyone out there who cared about him." He chortled. "Either that, or who he had ticked off so bad that they had decided cut off all contact with him."

She nodded, and her eyes drifted to her desk. "He's had people who cared about him, but—." She didn't know what to say about his family or how much to tell Mike about Abigail. "I guess things hasn't worked out for him."

"Well, I can't imagine going through life all alone. Must be terrible." He pulled his lips together, spun back, and picked up the phone.

She rested her temple on her hand. She couldn't possibly begin to imagine going through eternity alone. Henry, however, had been fortunate to have Abigail, Abe, and Sylvia in his life, even if it was only for a while.

She pulled her lips together. On her way to work, her mind had kept returning to the idea that maybe Abigail and Sylvia were the same person. Unless she was wrong, it was the only possible explanation for Henry's reaction to Sylvia's death.

Jo found the DMV's web site, entered the license plate number for Sylvia's car, and waited. The second that the owner's name appeared, her hand flew to her mouth to prevent her gasp from being heard. She re-read the name to see if she had read it right.

A moment later, she looked up the woman's driver's license. She nearly jumped out of her skin the moment that she recognized several facial features and the hair color.

Staring back at her was one Abigail Morgan, age 64, resident of Manhattan.

An older version of the same woman who was in the photograph with Henry.

Jo shot out of her seat and, as discreetly as she could, bolted for the bathroom. Once inside, she quickly checked under the stalls to see if anyone was there. When she was satisfied to see that she had some privacy, she locked herself in a stall and threw up.

She gasped for air. Sylvia Blake was indeed Henry's Abigail. He had just buried Abigail.

Her eyes darted around the tiny area. It meant that Abigail was also Abe's mother.

 _Abe_.

She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed his cell phone number. With each ring, she hoped that he wasn't on the road or had let the battery die on him.

"Abraham Morgan."

She closed her eyes. Although she had no idea exactly how Abe had entered Henry and Abigail's lives, it still was surreal to know that Henry was Abe's father. "It's Jo. Are you okay?"

She heard him swallow on the other end. "Yeah. Have you found Pops yet?"

She fought back her tears. "Lucas hadn't seen him this morning. I told Lt. Reece that I thought that Henry was being blackmailed and had run to protect us. Because he had suddenly disappeared, we're treating it like a kidnapping since he's one of us."

Abe inhaled. "That's good."

The image of the box filled with passports, identification cards, and cash that she had found in his basement while they had searched the shop flashed before her, followed by the memory of Henry's last attempt to run. "Where are you at?"

"At the shop."

She smiled. That was why he was free to call the other man by the familiar name.

"Why?"

Abe's worried tone seeped into her mind. She ran her hand over her ponytail. "Is anything missing?"

"I'm not sure, and I don't understand what this has to do with Pops."

"Do you remember what happened at Christmas?"

She patiently waited as Abe thought about it. "You think that he might have fled the country?"

"It _is_ one possibility, but, yeah, I do."

She immediately hated herself. If something were to happen to Abe because of her theory, she would never forgive herself.

He chortled. "Why didn't _I_ think of that?" Jo could hear him swallow, and his voice began to crack. "This has happened once before in the mid-1990s. I couldn't find him for a while."

She gulped. She wasn't sure if she would have that much time to focus on finding Henry.

"What happened? How did you find him?"

"Someone here in New York had seen one of his deaths. He panicked. I tried to talk him into staying, but he ran during the night. About six months after he had left, he sent me a postcard from the Netherlands—in Dutch—saying that he was going to stay there a while. We kept in touch about three times a week with collect calls until he suddenly stopped one day. Two weeks later, he called me from JFK and asked if I could pick him up. He told me on the way back to Manhattan that he had no idea how he had arrived in Tokyo, but he was sure that it was another panicked run caused by yet another death." He chuckled. "He was surprised when I brought him to the shop. He had no idea that I had moved everything from our apartment in the West Village as well as all of his knick-knacks."

Jo smiled. She had never thought to ask how long they had lived at the shop, and she could add the two countries to the list of places that he had been and Dutch and likely Japanese to the list of languages that he knew.

Abe's voice began to waver again, and he inhaled. "I'll see if he took anything."

"Text me what you have found." Feeling like her legs might give out under her at any moment, she placed a hand on the wall to brace herself. "I promise to delete it after I read it."

The door to the bathroom creaked open. Jo stepped on the lever and hoped that the running water would cover up their conversation. "I'll tell you later."

"Okay. Thanks for calling."

She hung up, ran her hand over her ponytail again, and nervously stepped out of the stall. To her relief, whoever it was had disappeared into another stall.

She headed over to Mike's desk and set her hands on it. "Hey, Mike."

"Yeah?"

"Found anything yet?"

"Not yet. The guys over at the DMV are sending last night's and this morning's footage from Suffolk and Stanton right now. You?"

She swallowed back the thought of how she would feel if Henry stayed gone. "I'm going to see if he had left by train or plane."

"Do you need some help?"

"Which do you want?"

"I'll take the airports. What credit card company does he use?"

She bit her lower lip. "I think he uses cash. He always seems a little chagrined when we track someone using their credit card."

Mike raised one eyebrow. "Does he know how much cash a flight costs?"

She glared at him. "We're talking about the same guy who orders cognac or the most expensive beer at bars and shops at Paul Stuart."

"Good point."

She called the railroad and requested a search for a passenger matching Henry's name. When she heard the response, that there was no one with that name who had purchased a ticket to anywhere, she buried her head in her hand. She stared at her paperwork. Abigail had used an alias to hide from Henry. If he was traveling under one, they would never be able to find him.

Seeking a distraction, she checked Henry's records again, this time locating the one from the train accident. She shook her head in stunned surprise when she noticed the time. When he was their suspect, she had hoped that she would find the moment when Henry had exited the train on the surveillance footage, but she had found herself wishing that the crash hadn't taken out the camera. Now, she saw that it preserved Henry's secret.

As she closed the window, she felt her phone vibrate. She yanked it out of her pocket and tucked it under the edge of her desk as she tapped on the screen. In spite of the lingering surrealism, she smiled as she read Abe's use of "Pops" for his father.

As she continued reading, her smile faded, and her heart sank faster than the _Titanic_. She usually took pride when she was right, but this was one time that she hated it. Henry had taken a passport and some cash before he had left.

She deleted the message, put her phone back in her pocket, and narrowed her eyes in confusion. Why had he taken his American passport? As he considered himself to be a British citizen, he should have taken his British one.

She gulped. She had no clue if he was a legal citizen of either country. As far as she knew, the laws didn't cover immortals.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to try. She turned to Mike. "How far along are you?"

He placed his hand behind his head. "Checking to see if anyone with his name has bought a ticket using cash. It's quite a list."

She rose from her seat and stood behind him. "See if he's bought a ticket for an international flight to an English-speaking country."

"Huh?" Mike raised his eyebrow.

"Call it a hunch." She swallowed and hoped that her cryptic response wouldn't raise Mike's suspicions.

"Okay, if you insist."

As he returned to work, she forced herself to breath. Henry had disappeared before, and it seemed that he had done it again. She wished that she knew what had spooked him so much that he had thought about leaving his life in New York behind…possibly forever.

* * *

Jo stared at the screen one more time. The camera had caught Henry hailing a cab last night around 8:30, and he was carrying a suitcase. Once he had climbed into the vehicle, it had traveled east along Stanton.

She closed the video and rested her head on her hands as her heart ached for him. What was he thinking?

"Jo, I've got something."

She snapped her head toward Mike and pushed herself toward him. The second that she leaned over his shoulder, he pointed at the screen. Her eyes darted over the words of the flight manifest several times. Sure enough, there was one passenger with the designation "H. Mor." on one of the non-stop flights out of JFK.

She stared at the screen. She was glad that she and Sean had received their passports before their cancelled trip to India for their honeymoon. She was going to need hers today.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I got Henry's American passport from the Pilot. If you look closely, he places three passports in his pocket, and one of them is blue…the same color as an American one.

I also got the idea for Jo's own passport from "The King of Columbus Circle". She talks about how she and Sean were supposed to go to the real Taj Mahal for their honeymoon. From that, I deduced that she and Sean had applied for passports before their wedding. It also easily explains how she can take off from work and plan to leave for Paris with Isaac without worrying about immigration and customs in "Best Foot Forward".


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note** : I'm sorry that this is posted so late! I decided to tackle NaNoWriMo in November, and I was busy with another Forever fanfic!

This chapter was not an original part of the story that I had written back in July. When I re-read a few later chapters to see if and where I needed to edit them, some events felt as though they were incompletely explained. So, I decided to add some more details that I hope will both illuminate those chapters and move the story forward without spoiling what is coming up.

I hope that you will enjoy the chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

Nothing in her life had prepared her for this.

Sighing, Jo readjusted the strap of her duffle bag and tightened her grip on her small suitcase as she neared the shop. Two weeks ago, if anyone had told her that she would be helping a 70-year-old man find his missing immortal father, she would have laughed at them. If someone were to tell her that she would traveling to another country to look for him, she wouldn't have believed them. Yet, through a weird twist of fate, she had found herself precisely in that position.

A moment later, the door's bell jingled. Abe swung the door open and held it for her. Easing past him, she took a glance around the retail space. Although everything looked the same, they seemed different now. Each antique sat in its spot, waiting for Henry to inspect it and buy it…just like he probably had when they were new.

"Let me take them."

Jo startled at Abe's voice and blinked. "Yeah. Thanks."

As he took her luggage, he chuckled. "I don't want you to tell Pops that I wasn't a perfect gentleman when you find him."

Jo wanted to offer him a small smile, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. During the subway ride there, she had researched the city where Henry had fled to. She gulped when she had seen the sheer size of it. She had no idea where he could possibly be.

While Abe led her to the apartment upstairs, Jo gathered her thoughts. As much as she wanted to ask Abe about everything, she knew that she couldn't. Whatever story Henry had to tell her was his and his alone.

She swallowed back her tears. From what she had pieced together, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know all of it.

Abe rounded the bannister, crossed the kitchen and dining area, and set her bags next to the chair between the fireplace and French doors that separated the living room from Abe's domain. Jo trudged behind him. She strained to hear Henry's voice. Waited for him to appear in the kitchen, to apologize for upsetting them, and to explain that he had been staying at a New York hotel the entire time. The eerie absence of his familiar British lilt punched a hole in her heart and sank it.

The moment that she entered the living room, she crossed her arms and began to pace. Her mind swirled with numerous questions about Henry, his life, and his desire for death. She was amazed that she had been able to return home, pack, and head to the shop without having an accident or boarding the wrong train.

"What's wrong?"

Jo slowed to a stop and spun around. "He told me that I was one of the few people he trusted!" The thought slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Abe jerked at her raised voice. Unable to bring herself to meet his gaze, she turned her back and headed toward the stairs.

"Why couldn't he trust me with this? This…this is huge. This is something that can't be hidden for long. Why couldn't he just come out and tell me that he's immortal?"

She rubbed her hand over her hair. "At Christmas, he told us that his stalker believed that he was immortal. How could he…?"

She huffed. Clark must have seen one of Henry's deaths or his return to life in the river. Both of which she had seen only a part of.

Her pace slowed, and she pirouetted back toward the younger Morgan. "He knows that I have his back. He knows that he can tell me anything. We haven't known each other for a long time, but what on earth had possessed him to claim that the idea of immortality sounded ridiculous?"

She locked eyes with Abe, and she immediately knew the answer. Henry had no way of knowing her reaction. As far as he knew, she was like everyone else whom he had encountered in his past.

She sank down in the same chair that Henry had sat in what felt like years ago. Was that why he had run? Was he so terrified of her that he was willing to sacrifice his life in New York to avoid facing her reaction?

Then again, why was he scared of _her_? A piece of him had apparently trusted her enough to let him grow close to her whether he wanted to or not. Why couldn't he trust her fully?

She choked back her tears. She was sure that she had given him every reason to trust her. What had she done wrong? Did she unwittingly say or do something that had deeply hurt him?

Maybe it was best if she had given up her search for Henry right now. With the exception of his flight number, it appeared that he didn't want to be found. When—and if—he wanted to return to New York, he would do it on his own time.

Abe rose from his seat. For a moment, Jo thought that he was going for a tissue box. Instead, he brushed past her and stopped just inside the threshold.

"Come on. I need to do a couple of things in the basement."

Strangely enough, Abe's suggestion was as calming as Henry's request for her to sniff a mask. She dried her tears and pushed herself out of the chair. Maybe a distraction would be good for her.

* * *

With each step leading to the basement, Jo's legs tensed. Maybe she shouldn't be here. The first time that she was downstairs, she had forced her way in with a warrant. At Christmas, she had slipped into the room without his knowledge and had confronted him about the circumstantial evidence that she had hoped wasn't pointing to an accurate conclusion. Now, she felt as though she was penetrating the innermost parts of his mind.

The only thing keeping her from running back upstairs was Abe. The older man had something on his mind, and she was determined to know what it was.

As Abe busied himself at Henry's desk, Jo's eye roamed the blackboard parked behind it. Her racing heart threatened to push the air out of her lungs as she read his notes and equations on one side of the board and a "reappearance table" on the other.

" _Why did you choose death?"_

" _Y_ _ou want to live forever?"_

" _Not exactly."_

Tears welled up and took what remained of her mascara with it. When she had asked him that, she was curious about his seemingly weird obsession with death. Yet, she had no idea of the gravity of his comments. From the few medical notes that she could understand, she could see that he was looking for a way to end his life.

She wiped her eyes as they travelled down to the last four dates. She swallowed the bile that had risen up and made itself known. She now knew that two of them were connected to deaths that she had known about. The other two…

The memory of the search of his basement coinciding with his and Abe's car trip flashed before her eyes. She had been puzzled by the turned-on medical equipment and the leads lying on the messed-up mattress. Both which looked as though someone had been using them moments before. At the same time, Henry's hair was wet, and, when he had brushed up against her, he had smelled like he had been swimming in the river.

She swallowed. Had he killed himself then? If so, why? Nothing in her interview with him or in his behavior afterward had suggested that he was suffering from a bout of depression at that time.

" _I haven't used aconite in a very long time…."_

She bit her lower lip. Then again, had he used aconite on himself that night to test a theory about the engineer's cause of death? And how would he know which poison had been used to start with? He depended on toxicology results to confirm his initial suspicions of poisoning.

Didn't he?

Looking away in an effort to slow her pounding heart, Jo's eyes landed on her right hand and moistened again. She was grateful that Henry had saved her life during their first confrontation with Hans Koehler. Yet, a part of her now wanted to know exactly what he was thinking while he was neutralizing the poison.

"Most of his deaths aren't easy for me either."

She spun around and nearly bumped into Abe. His words echoing in her head, she studied him. "What do you mean by 'most of his deaths'?"

He gazed down for a moment and inhaled. "Usually the ones in which he asks me to kill him. I—."

His admission drowned out the rest of his words. Jo blinked. Henry had asked his son to murder him? Didn't he know that he could get Abe into legal trouble should someone find out about it?

"If they are from accidents or illnesses, they can be annoying." He chuckled and pointed to the last date. "His fall from the 59th Street Bridge—."

Her eyes widened. Henry had died during _that_ case too? How many times had he died since they had known each other?

The image of Sean's casket flashed in front of her while Abe complained about his father ruining his date. Feeling the grief rise up and threaten to wash over her, Jo waved her hand for the younger Morgan to stop. "Please, Abe, I can't—."

Abe frowned and placed one hand on his hip. For a moment, she swore that she saw a tear in his eyes.

Jo huffed. "It's just…"

She lowered her eyes and bit her lower lip to muffle her cries. She looked toward Abe, her gaze really focusing on anything and everything but him.

She drew in some air. "It's just that…. A year and a half ago, I had lost Sean. Now, I learn that one of my friends is immortal and that he wants to end his life. I, um, I…."

Her legs buckled, threatening to send her to the ground if she didn't do something. Her fingers reached out and felt around until they found the edge of the desk. She wrapped her hand around it and hoped that it would support her if she started to fall.

Abe swung over to her side and wrapped his arms around her. "Come here, kiddo. Let's get you onto the settee."

Jo released the desk and let Abe guide her to the settee in the middle of the room. As he lowered her onto it, she looked him square in his teary eyes.

"It's a lot to take in, isn't it?"

She lowered her head. He didn't know the half of it.

She swallowed. "What…? I mean…." She huffed. "He's got so much life in him. Why…?"

"I don't want him to become a corpse either." Abe's voice cracked with each word.

Her heart broke for Abe. How could Henry not see what his desire for death was doing to his son?

Hating that Abe was seeing her in a very vulnerable state, Jo turned away from him. She looked around at the medical equipment now tucked into a corner, the lab equipment and jars of human organs that sat nearby, and the little office that Henry had set up under the windows. She had never imagined this about him. How much more of himself and his life had he hidden from her?

She gazed down at her folded hands. "I barely know him."

Abe nudged her. "Hey, I have been meaning to ask you, but what convinced you that Henry's my Pops?"

She met his gaze. She had wanted to talk to someone about her suspicions about Henry's life. Since Abe was the one person who would believe her, maybe he could give her some answers.

She sucked in some air, steeled herself for his response, and started to tell Abe every odd comment and every odd piece of knowledge that Henry had given her since they had met. At first, Abe's eyes widened. A grin grew on his face. Before long, he started chuckling.

"Abe…" She groaned at his roaring laughter during the mention of Henry's original Jack the Ripper notes. She couldn't see what was so amusing about it.

Abe held his hand up. "Pops trusts you so much that he blew a hole in his cover so large that you can drive a semi-truck through it."

Jo's eyes popped. "What?"

His eyes searched hers. "Do you remember when I had said that he likes to keep this part of himself hidden?"

She nodded. "You've said that he's been hurt in the past."

"Under ordinary circumstances, we would have been gone shortly after you had cleared Pops. After you had seen him fall off Grand Central's roof at the latest." Still smiling, he sighed. "His heart trusts you entirely. It has taken a while for his head to catch up and to at least admit the basics of his condition." He sighed. "I should know. I have spent part of the past nine months trying to convince him to tell you the truth about himself. I'm glad that it finally came out."

Abe placed a hand on his leg and leaned forward. "When you showed up on our doorstep after that first case, I knew that you were special, even to him. Since you two have been working together, I have seen a change in Pops for the better." He softly chuckled. "I haven't seen him that happy in a very long time."

Jo glanced over Abe's shoulder. She had begun to wonder if there was ever a time in which he had enjoyed his life.

" _You are one of the few people I trust. You are in rare company."_

"Why me?" She swallowed back her fears. She was hardly qualified to handle his condition the way a friend should. He needed someone much older and wiser than her. Someone more like himself…if they even existed.

He mirrored her posture. "Maybe he sees some of the same things in you that you see in him, both the bad and the good. Maybe he can relate to you better than he can anyone else but Mom and me."

She glanced away from Abe for a moment while the memories of her and Henry's friendship rolled past her. Abe was right. Henry always had the ability to tell her what she needed to hear and to make her feel better…even if some of it wasn't exactly helpful at the time. At the same time, she wouldn't trade his friendship for anything in the world.

The eerie silence pricked at her heart. She wanted her friend to return to New York...back to where he belonged.

She bit her lower lip as she studied Abe. She hoped that Henry would tell her his story once she found him. Maybe it would help her determine what had prompted him to run.

"What time is your flight? And what airport are you flying out of?"

She laid her hand on her head. "Last flight out of JFK." She and Lt. Reece were fortunate that they could book it on such short notice.

"Let me get a couple of things from Pops' desk." Abe pushed himself off the settee. "After that, I'll help you narrow down where he could be." He checked his watch. "How about we stop at Katz's for a couple of sandwiches before we head for the airport? My treat."

She smiled at the offer. "That sounds good."

Abe headed for the desk, only to stop and cock his head. "Have you been out of the country before?"

"Does the Urkesh consulate count?" It was only a few feet away from a New York food truck.

"Do you have a passport?"

She nodded toward the stairs. "In my smaller suitcase. I got it when Sean and I were planning our wedding." She bit back her mention of Abe's interruption two weeks before. She wasn't sure what was worse: it or not knowing if Henry would have whisked her away to Paris that night himself. If he had said he would, she would have been ready.

Jo shoved that thought out of her mind. They were friends…nothing more. Right now, she needed to concentrate on bringing him back to New York. After that, maybe they could see where their relationship would lead.

Abe pulled his lips together and set a hand on his hips. "I'll give you some tips to help you get around. Nothing much should have changed since the last time that I was there."

"When was that?"

"2007, and that was to pick up the desk that I use upstairs."

As he told her how he had discovered the desk in an antiques magazine, Jo let her mind drift. There was so much about Henry that she still didn't know about. Yet, she hoped that, when this was all over with, she would be able to understand him better.

* * *

"Do you have everything?"

Jo checked the inside of the trunk. With the exception of a couple of towels and some spare clothes, likely there in case Abe needed to retrieve Henry from the river, it was totally empty.

She looked back at her suitcases which were now sitting next to the car. "Yup. Everything's here."

Abe slammed the trunk and wrapped his arms around her. "Good luck finding Pops."

She grasped onto him. "Thanks." She was going to need it.

He let go of her. "Call me when you can or if you feel that you need some help."

Jo nodded. She had no idea what to expect. As far as she knew, by the time that she arrived in the city, he would have already left. Either that, or he could be in some kind of trouble and in need of legal assistance. Or….

She sighed. He could be trying to kill himself again. If anyone caught him….

She stopped herself. If she wanted to board her flight on time, she needed to keep a clear head.

She sucked in some air to cool her lungs. "I guess that I will see you later."

"Take care."

As Abe climbed into the car and started the engine, she waved at him. She was glad that he had accepted her call to come over and to talk to him. Whether he realized it or not, their conversation helped to calm her nerves about her and Henry's friendship.

She took her suitcases and took another deep breath as she gazed at JFK's entrance. She didn't know why, but she felt as though she was embarking on an adventure of a lifetime.

And, strangely enough, she was kind of looking forward to it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note** : Happy holidays, everyone! Here is a belated Christmas gift! I hope that you will enjoy it.

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

The rhythmic sound of pattering rain gently pulled Henry out of the depths of his slumber. He wiped his face as if it could remove the cobwebs from his mind. Every muscle in his back and legs protested as he began to stir.

A weight threw itself against his side, prompting him to open his eyes. His hand found it and brought it before him. He knitted his eyebrows together and frowned. He had thought that he had set his pocket watch on his end table when he had arrived home.

He checked the time, and he scrambled into a seated position. "Abe! Why didn't you wake me up? I'm going to be late for work."

As he flew out of bed and hurried around the corner, his foot caught on something metallic. His momentum thrusted him toward the object. He instinctively threw his hands in front of him as he crashed into it.

The second that he felt what he had landed on, his mind began to clear. His eyes roamed the plywood-covered desk and round plastic chair. He _knew_ that he had neither of them in his room.

He pushed himself up and untangled his foot from the chair's leg. His eyes widened in surprise as he peered into the mirror. A queen-sized bed covered with a wrinkled, red-striped blanket sat on the other side of the room; its modern headboard matched the desk. Under his feet, a cheaply-made blue rug spread from one end of the room to the other. One wall near a door sat at an angle instead of running flush with the other edge.

He placed his hands on his hips and blew. It was obvious that he was not in the shop. Where was he?

Henry stepped over to the window and cautiously pulled back the blue-striped curtain. His mouth opened at the sight of familiar half-timbered, three-story houses lining the streets. Below him, traffic causally flowed counter to what he was accustomed to seeing outside his window every morning for most of the past twenty years.

He stared at the scene before him in stunned disbelief. It should not be possible, but it was.

He was in London.

He slowly turned away from the window, wiped his face, and brought his hands to his mouth. How was this possible?

He staggered to the bed and lowered himself onto it. He searched his memory for what had happened last night. A few vague impressions lingered in the background as though they were wisps of smoke, but nothing solid existed after his shower.

His mind raced through the possibilities. Foul play, panic, romance, the necessity of a vacation, business…from his experience, all were valid reasons for travel on short notice. He wished that he could remember what had transpired last night, but that was impossible. He needed to establish his mindset to determine the events that had led him to the city of his birth.

His heart skipped a beat. If he were in New York, he would survey the room and note any discrepancies between what he saw and what their witness would tell Jo. If he could do that for himself….

Henry noticed where he was sitting and leapt off the bed. If he were in New York, Jo and Hanson would quickly inform him that he risked contaminating the crime scene.

His heart leapt into his throat as a pair of memories fought the current and began to surface. He willed them to return to where they had come from. He could not risk becoming emotional at a time like this. He required every bit of his mental facilities to solve his latest personal mystery.

He closed his eyes and brought back the memory of what he had seen in the mirror. Using the similarities between the way the blanket had looked and the manner in which his bedding wrinkled under him when he spent nights alone, he quickly eliminated romance as an explanation.

He sighed. He should have ruled that out initially. Abigail and Jo…

He shook his head in an attempt to clear the thought from his head. Now was not the time to think about that.

He dropped his gaze to the floor. Besides, it was inappropriate to think of Jo in a romantic manner now. He had broken her trust, and he didn't deserve her friendship. Even if it were possible to repair the damage that he had caused her, it could take years, if not decades, before he could begin to consider a romantic relationship with her.

His heart ached. If he were to be honest with himself, however, he didn't want his friendship with her to end, especially not in this manner. He would much rather hold her hand and watch death steal her from him than to never know what would happen between them. He had done _that_ once before, and he had no desire to do it again.

His grief over Abigail's flight to Tarrytown threatened to wash over him and submerge him under its waves. Feeling tears in his eyes, he willed himself to find a distraction. He returned his focus to his surroundings. His suitcase against the wall next to the desk attracted his attention. He brought it to the bed and flipped it open.

As he examined each garment, a chill ran through him. He normally kept a few three-piece suits packed in case of a sudden need to flee his residence. For some reason, though, he must have removed them last night. In their place were several dress shirts and pants, an abundance of underwear and socks, and a week's worth of NYPD t-shirts.

He picked up a hoodie and a pair of sweat pants, and his breath caught in his throat. Under everything laid the blue suit that he had worn when he and Jo had gone to the Hamptons to question Harold Price and the gray patterned scarf that he had worn when he and Jo had saved the lives of Armen Aronov's daughter and grandson. What were they doing in there?

He reverentially fingered the scarf. The sight of Jo holding the young prince—the image of maternal radiance—had rendered him utterly speechless. As he stood transfixed in amazement before her, he had felt stirrings that had lain dormant for over thirty years. He—.

Realizing that he was becoming lost in the memory, he reluctantly pulled his hand away from his neckwear and redirected his attention to the items on the bed. As he repacked each piece, he sighed. The lack of additional suits and scarves indicated that he had not come to the city for business. What puzzled him was the amount of casual attire in his suitcase. He had seen others—especially Abe—forego more formal wear, and even he had been known to dress more casually for work on occasion. Why, though, had he packed what he would wear on his days off or for bed?

His stomach suddenly dropped. Based on what he had observed so far, he could rule out foul play as a cause for his travel to his childhood home as well.

His eyes traveled back to where his suitcase had sat. He lowered his eyebrows. He usually carried his satchel with him to keep his journals safe. Where was it? He didn't see it.

A loud thud interrupted his thoughts. Curious, he moved toward the sound and opened the door. He noticed an almost empty hallway, with its lone occupant reaching into a bundle and removing something from it. His eyes, making their own deduction, drifted to the floor and landed on the newspaper.

Henry reached down, picked it up, and brought it into the room. He unfolded it and spotted the date on the masthead. No, that could not be right. Had he been in London for a day?

He shook his head. Perhaps he had truly been unconscious to the world around him for that long. He seemed to remember waking up from a nightmare of him driving an out-of-control car into the Mosholu Parkway Exit's railing, dying and awakening, and making his way to the latest crime scene…naked. The humiliation that he had experienced while Jo, Lucas, and Hanson had eyed him felt as real now as it had then.

His neck and shoulders tightened even more than what they had. He set the paper on top of the desk, reached over, and massaged them as best as he could. He wasn't certain whether sleeping for an entire day or his tension had caused it, but, whatever the source, his lack of relief from the aches was encouraging him to seek out some aspirin as soon as he could.

He looked around the room and chuckled. When he selected a hotel, he always found one which had more refined furnishings. This budget hotel was more to Abe's liking.

Hope sprung up in Henry. About a day ago, he and Abe had decided that their recent circumstances necessitated a reprieve from their lives in New York. When they had arrived, Abe –or his sciatica—had convinced him to take refuge in this hotel. As in times past, Abe had used an alias to check into a room down the hall or on another floor to avoid arousing suspicions. Given the time, he should arrive at any minute.

A basic urge hit, causing Henry to dash to the bathroom. While he satisfied it, he kept one ear toward the door in hopes of hearing Abe's knock. With each passing minute, a silence greeted him instead of his son's voice on the other side of the door.

When Henry stepped into the room again, his heart sank. He didn't want to admit it, but perhaps he should consider the possibility that Abe wasn't there.

He ran his hands through his hair and huffed. He was no closer to determining what he was thinking than he was when he had started.

His eyes traveled to the desk and landed on its surface. He saw an American passport and a boarding pass from British Airways. Typically, he would keep his and Abe's documents until the next morning when they would take a late flight. As he almost always carried his British passport, the American one should be Abe's.

He flipped the book open. His heart plunged into his stomach when he saw the first page. Hes gingerly closed the passport and placed it back on the desk. There was only one set of documents…

…for himself.

He hesitantly reached out and picked up the boarding pass. He swallowed when he read the times. He had apparently panicked while he had changed into fresh clothes the other night, and he must have entered a state of shock. He had automatically unpacked anything that he had believed would make him stand out and repacked his suitcase with what he had believed would permit him to blend into the crowd. Once satisfied, he had slipped out of the shop, proceeded to the airport, and boarded a flight bound for London.

With his hands shaking, he laid the ticket on top of his passport. He turned back to the window and wiped his face. _What have I done?_

His legs turned into jelly. As much as he despised the hard seat, he pulled it out and carefully lowered himself into it. By now, Abe and Lucas had reported him missing, and Jo had requested a warrant for his arrest…if she wasn't coordinating with Bellevue for a way to bring him back and place him under psychiatric supervision upon his return to the United States. In either case, she and a team of Interpol agents would be knocking on his door at any moment.

His gaze drifted to the edge of the desk. Perhaps he should return to Heathrow and board the next flight to New York. If he stayed here, he would miss Abe, and he would never have the chance to see if Jo believed him. He had also used the majority of his personal days off at Christmas, and he could not afford to lose the remaining vacation time that he needed to establish himself in a new city without arousing his superior's suspicions about his absence.

His suitcase caught the corner of his eye. He gulped. In his panic, he had decided that he would never return to New York.

Perhaps he should return. Perhaps he should try again with Jo. Perhaps….

He glanced up, and his eyes narrowed in confusion. His breath fled when he recognized the photograph of himself, Abigail, and a very young Abe. Tears welled in his eyes as the memory of that day drifted back into his mind. Abigail and he were madly in love, and Abe had been a delightful child…when he hadn't seemingly decided to interrupt one of his parents' private moments.

Henry's fingers brushed a crease, causing what tears had been building to spill over onto his cheeks. He couldn't go back to New York. He could not helplessly watch Abe's health deteriorate until he would take his last breath. He could not face either Jo's rejection or her continued distrust of him. He could not spend his days in constant fear of being betrayed by someone whom he had feelings for. He could not face the idea of a future where he would be left with no one but Adam, once he died and awaken, for company.

Fearing that he would break at any moment, Henry closed his eyes to shut out the rest of the world. The only way that he could end his pain was to distance himself from everyone and everything in his life. He would need to purchase some new clothing and to leave everything that he had worn in New York behind when he left for….

He pushed himself away from the desk and returned to his suitcase. He opened it and quickly found his cash. After he counted it, he sighed. He had brought just enough for a brief stay in London but not enough for a new life elsewhere.

He replaced the money, rose to his feet, and grasped the edge of the desk. The last time that he had done this, he had woken up in Tokyo. He remembered staying in the city for a while, but he couldn't recall whether he had only visited the city or remained there until he had decided to return to New York.

He closed his eyes and drew some air into his lungs. He must remain calm. He could not let his emotions cloud his judgment or his memory.

Feeling a little stronger, he opened his eyes, only to find them on the black-and-white photograph. He pulled his lips tightly against each other. Looking back now, his condition had been weighing down on Abigail for a few years, and she had deeply felt the wounds that others' expectations about their apparent ages had inflicted on her. Since he could not provide her with the amount of comfort that she required, she had felt the need to have some time away from him so that she could discover what she had truly wanted. Had she mailed her letter to him, he would have quit his job as a grave digger and would have arrived in Tarrytown a couple of days after he had received it, and they would have happily spent the rest of her life together.

He lifted his eyes, looking at nothing in particular. He wished that he knew what he wanted to do about his life. As a place to live, London hadn't held anything for him since World War II. In an ideal world, he would return to his life in New York, but he wasn't sure if that were possible anymore. The last time that he had considered Paris—for a romantic visit—Jo had implied that she had thought of _him_ as a _very_ special person. As for any other destination, unlike in times past, he possessed no real desire to flee to any of them.

He took the boarding pass into his hand again. His eyebrows crinkled as his fingers grasped it. It felt thicker than he had been accustomed to. Had they changed the paper that it was printed on?

He pushed the thought aside while he set it back on the desk. It was likely his imagination. Nothing else about it looked unusual.

His stomach angrily grumbled, prompting him to look at it. When was the last time that he had eaten anything substantial? The last thing that he remembered having was a blueberry scone.

His heartache amplified every ache in the rest of his body. He sighed. Whether he wanted to or not, it was time to leave the room.

He picked up his belongings and what appeared to be two credit cards and quickly tucked them into his pocket. As he found his coat, a sudden desire to see his family estate struck him. He attempted to push the thought aside. As far as he knew, it had fallen into disrepair and had been demolished decades before. Even if it were still standing, he couldn't return there. Every time that he had thought of it or what had happened the last time that he was there, he had night terrors not long afterward.

Yet, with each step through the hallway, the desire grew stronger. He puffed his cheeks and blew out the air. He might as well surrender to it. If he did not, his nightmares could bring him to the point of insanity, and he didn't want that to happen.

As he closed the distance between himself and the elevators, his stomach growled, and his neck and shoulders ached. First things first, though. He needed something to eat and some pain relief. After that, he would decide what to do next.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : When I wrote this, my mind automatically placed him in London for this part of the story.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note** : I hope that you will enjoy it.

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

Jo emerged from the subway station and gasped in utter amazement. Because of what she had seen in several movies and a few minutes of _Sherlock_ , she had expected this area of the city to have old, majestic looking shops and government buildings like the ones in the center of London. Yet, most of the buildings were out of a fairy tale or a period piece with its mix of half-timbered and Regency-era structures and shops which would fit with those on the Lower East Side.

She wanted to pinch herself. She couldn't believe that she was in another country. Wanting to share her thoughts with someone, she looked over at Henry….

The eerie absence of his voice and his presence by her side quickly deflated her enthusiasm and brought her back to reality. She was in his hometown looking for him.

She looked behind the station, and she bit her lower lip. She and Abe had pulled up a map of the area before she had left, but she wanted to be sure that she was going in the right direction. Maybe she should pull out the paper map that Abe had printed out for her and try to determine how to get there from it.

As her hand reached into her pocket, a couple of drops landed on it. She turned her gaze to the steel-grey sky. More drops fell on her face, forcing her to blow out some air. This could not be happening.

The rain began to pelt down harder on her. Jo cursed herself and pulled her arms toward her. While she had been with Abe, she should have asked him to check the weather forecast and the TSA requirements for umbrellas. Maybe Henry wouldn't have minded if Abe loaned her one of his until they returned to New York.

Not wanting to get soaked, she dashed across the street to a half-timbered building, entered the shop, and browsed the aisles. As she walked around, she gaped at its familiarity. The store looked like a cross between the _bodega_ two block from her building on East 116th Street and the store that she frequented in Washington Heights.

Her heart skipped a beat as a man about Henry's height, build, hair color, and hair style passed by her. She couldn't believe that she had found him so quickly. Eager to reach him, she quickened her pace until she was within earshot of him.

"Henry!"

To her bewilderment, the man continued his walk down the aisle. His back remained turned to her as he rounded a corner. She cocked her head, wondering if he had heard her. "Henry!"

He kept his back to her. She huffed in frustration as she brushed off several customers' stares. Had he already started a new life somewhere in the city? She knew from his resume that he had moved several times before, but he would need time to line up a new job and to find a place to live. How had he done those so quickly?

Then again, maybe he had heard her, and he was ignoring her. Was he so scared of her that he could not bring himself to face her?

The man stopped in front of a display near the wall. She pushed the thought out of her mind and steeled herself to try again. When she was within arm's reach, she reached out and tapped him on the shoulder.

He finally turned around and faced her. Her heart dropped into her stomach when she failed to recognize the man. She hated herself for bothering him, but she needed to know.

"Yes?"

Her head began to float toward the sky as the man's voice reminded her of Henry's gentle lilt. Her cheeks flushed, and she blinked to pull herself together. "I thought that you were someone else."

She reminded herself of what she was doing, squared her shoulders, and looked him in the eye. "I'm looking for a place in the common near The Avenue. Can you tell me how to get there?"

"Have you come from the Tube?"

She nodded.

He pointed to a spot behind her. "Go back to the station and take the Tube to the Clapham South station. Walk back up to Cavendish Road and cross the intersection there. You will be following The Avenue. On your right, you will see several recreational facilities."

As he spoke, Jo began to grow a little disconcerted. Abe had mentioned that his father had lived at the edge of the common, and the map of London had shown a large park south and east of the Thames. From the sounds of things, finding Henry's former home would be difficult. Nevertheless, she memorized the man's instructions and hoped that she could find it.

"If you are looking for someplace quieter, there are some woods a little past the court."

Her jaw dropped before her lips pulled together and tugged up into a smile. The quieter location sounded perfect. "Thanks."

He waved a hand. "Don't mention it. Good luck finding your friend."

As she turned toward the aisle behind her, she drew a deep breath to calm her racing heart. Given Henry's tendency to hide, she was going to need all the luck she could get.

She pointed herself down an aisle, quickly found the umbrellas, and made her way back to the cash register. Each step pulled her thoughts to the start of her adventure. Abe mentioned a few places where Henry could be if nostalgia struck him. The shortened list helped, but Jo wasn't sure if her and Henry's paths would ever cross.

She blew out some air. Abe was depending on her to find Henry and to bring him back to New York. She didn't want to let him down. No, she couldn't let him—or herself—down. She would do everything in her power to see to it, even if it was the last thing that she did.

She stopped to let a couple of elderly customers get in line in front of her. As she waited, she peered out the store's front windows. According to Abe, who had heard it from his father, much of the area was originally farmland, and many of the local shops were located in the northeastern part of the area. On the one hand, the modern buildings made it difficult for her to imagine what this part of the city had looked like 200 to 300 years ago. On the other hand, she could see Henry ducking into one of the shops and examining an item before buying it. That is, if he hadn't sent a servant to get it for him.

She shook her head in amazement. If someone had told her a week ago that she would be considering the idea that someone was much older than they had looked, she would have never believed them. Yet, she was, and she was missing him.

* * *

As she opened her umbrella, her stomach grumbled like a spoiled child. Remembering that she hadn't had breakfast yet, she huffed. Upon landing at Heathrow, she had decided to check into the hotel room that Lt. Reece had reserved for her and then head to the common to save time. Maybe she should have eaten at the airport before she started her journey.

Her eyes landed on the neighboring Starbucks. She groaned and rolled her eyes. She did not want to go in there. The last time that she had been in one, the barista had written "Joe" on her cup, and the cold coffee in the 11th Precinct's break room tasted better than what she had ordered. She would go into it if she couldn't find anything else.

She spied another café adjacent to its big-name competitor. She pointed herself toward it and quickened her pace. The moment that she opened the door, the mouthwatering smell of pastries and other baked goods filled the air. She eyed the goods in the display case. Each one looked as good as the ones at her favorite coffee shop or one of the blueberry scones that she had tried after she and Abe had returned upstairs from the basement.

"How many?"

She looked up at the young lady stepping up to the cash register beside the case. Jo opened and closed her mouth at the sudden sight.

Finding her voice, Jo finally squeaked out "One."

"Right this way." The woman led her to a small table near a window in the corner and took Jo's order.

The warmth of the room called Jo's attention to her shivers. She wrapped her arms around her and rubbed them. She wasn't sure what had brought them on, her worry about Henry or being out in the rain. Still, the heat began to still them.

She stared out the window. At that moment, a man matching Henry's description appeared in front of her. Her heart leapt when she thought that she had seen his face. As he passed the shop, disappointment filled her as she discovered that he wasn't her ME.

"Ma'am?"

The woman's voice broke through Jo's thoughts and coaxed her to pay attention to the other woman. Her hostess held a tray in her hands. She studied the items as each plate on the tray was set before her. The blueberry muffin looked as though Abe had freshly baked it, and the coffee….

She took one sip and closed her eyes in delight. It was no wonder that the café was busier than their American competitor. For a group of people known for their tea, they certainly knew how to brew an excellent cup of coffee.

She picked up the blueberry muffin and bit into it. She closed her eyes once again as she savored the mouthful. Mr. Finicky-Taste-Buds might not think that it and her coffee were a proper breakfast, but she didn't care. He hadn't just come from a long flight.

As the memory of the last time that he had questioned her food choices—her gyro—drifted into her mind, she lost her appetite. She stared at the muffin and started to put it back onto the plate. Her stomach growled one more time. She sighed. Although she didn't want to, she needed to finish it if she wanted to keep up her strength. It might turn out to be a long day.

* * *

With each step deeper into the common, Jo felt as though she was being transported into another world. The relative quiet of the grounds stood in remarkable contrast to the hustle and bustle of the surrounding city. The shadows of chestnut trees stretched out over her and the footpath. In the distance, a couple strolled past her, oblivious to the rain that had fallen earlier and the clouds that threatened more to come.

She glanced at the other field. She tried to imagine Henry walking the same paths or joining his father, brothers, and friends on a pheasant hunt near the route. She could see him sitting under one of the trees, curled up with a book. She envisioned him and his family enjoying a day out. At the same time, why could she see him riding a horse through these very fields?

She shook her head. The truth about his past had been suddenly made known to her, and she felt as lost in it as she had been in the city. She could make a few guesses based on some of his observations, but she wished that he could have told her more about it.

She glanced out from under the umbrella and smiled. The sun was starting to peek through the clouds. Eager to take advantage of the warmth, she quickly pulled her umbrella shut.

A grey-brick, three-story mansion and an iron-wrought fence caught her attention as she neared the intersection of the two footpaths. She stood transfixed by its carefully maintained exterior. A group of one-story servants' quarters lied adjacent to the main house. Chestnut trees dotted the fields. A small road circled its way toward the house and back to the road, looking as though it was expecting a carriage filled with guests to arrive at the mansion any minute.

She gaped as her eyes roamed the premise. She had seen estates similar to it, usually in rural locations, in her favorite movies and mini-series. But to see one up-close and in real life? It was more than she could imagine.

Her eyes drifted toward the front yard. They widened at the sight in the small graveyard. A man about Henry's build squatted in front of a tombstone. As she watched him slowly run his hand over the inscription, almost as if he was mourning a long-lost relative, her breath caught in her throat. Could it be…?

She found the gate and carefully lifted the latch. The moment that she stepped through the pass, she began to feel like she was trespassing on private property. She shoved the idea aside. If she were in the United States, she would have no qualms about doing something like this…especially for a case.

She studied the man as she eased toward him. The way that he touched the tombstone, his profile, even the way that he squatted…all seemed to point to only one conclusion.

Swallowing, she stopped a few feet away from him, giving herself some space to turn around and leave in case she was wrong. "Henry?"

Henry spun around and stared at her like he had at the photograph two days before. "Jo?"

He slowly rose to his feet. "I can explain." His voice uncharacteristically wavered. "You mustn't misunderstand what I have told you—."

Anger about the circumstances that had brought her here drowned out the rest of his comment. She marched up to him and laid a finger on his chest.

"Buster, what in the world were you thinking?!" Her voice rose so loudly that she swore that others could hear them. "You don't know how bad you have scared me! You left without a call, a note, telling Lucas or Abe where you were going. You left your job, your friends, your _son_. You left _me_! Why? Don't you know that you have a life in New York?!"

The images from the surveillance cameras near the shop and from Mike's computer screen flashed before her, and her pain seized her. Her chest tightened, forcing her to take in some more air. "You don't know what it's like to have someone inexplicably disappear on you and for you to have no idea where they could be! You…!"

The second that the words slipped out of her mouth, she stared at him in horror. Of course, he knew all too well what most of that had felt like, and there was no reason for her to accuse him otherwise. That, and now was not the time to take her frustrations about not knowing what had happened a few days ago out on him.

Embarrassed, she turned toward the tombstones. The etching attracted her attention, and she lowered herself to the ground to read the fading inscription. Tears welled in her eyes as she saw the epitaph "Henry Morgan, Born September 19th, 1779, Died April 7th, 1814."

She swallowed as the tears spilled down onto her cheeks. This was his tombstone.

" _I was born on September 19, 17—_. "

She gaped as her eyes traveled from word to word again. The two dates were the extent of his mortal life.

She reached out and gently touched his birth date. It was weird to think that he was 235 years old. That he was as old as most countries. That his birth date predated most technology. It was no wonder that he seemed to have manners right out of a Jane Austen novel; he had lived that type of life.

She glanced down at his death date. He was almost 35 when he had died and should have stayed dead. Yet, he was here with her. Her fingers migrated down to the words and tenderly rubbed the date in which he had begun his journey into her life.

She pivoted back to him, halfway expecting to see that he had disappeared again. Instead, he remained still behind her, gaping and staring at the sight before him. A moment later, his face turned ash white, and he bolted toward the house.

Jo pushed herself off the ground and dashed after him, trying to avoid the tombstones and the trees in the process. She literally prayed that he would not turn into the house. If he fled into it, she didn't want to see what would happen if the homeowner would discover them.

A man walked toward them. She gulped. She wasn't prepared to explain what they both were doing here…or why.

"Henry, stop."

He skidded in accordance to her order and gingerly pivoted toward her. Her heart broke at the fear in his eyes.

Hoping that she was not about to lose him again, Jo took a step toward him. "Henry, what happened? Why won't you talk to me?"

"You won't believe me." He quickly averted his gaze to a spot on the ground.

She fought back tears and her anger. Anger at him for making that assumption so rapidly. Tears because of his pain from whatever memory was still haunting him.

She maneuvered herself until she was face-to-face with him. Their eyes met, and he tried to redirect his look elsewhere. She tracked him until she held his gaze.

"I believe that you're immortal."

Henry paled, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He took a few steps back as whatever fear had seized him was tightening its grip.

Jo pulled her lips together. It had been easy for him to admit the truth in New York. Why was it difficult for him to do it now?

She wanted to follow him, to reach out to him, to take his hand in comfort. Yet, she was terrified that he would run and disappear again if she did. How…?

The speech that she had prepared returned to her mind and urged her to voice it. "Some of the things that you've said and done over the past year didn't make sense until you told me that you're immortal. Talking like you lived in the past. Your lack of self-preservation. Me finding your watch at three different crime scenes. Your 'skinny dipping'. You falling off Grand Central's roof after being shot and being at my hospital bedside afterward. Your scar over your heart. The way that you act like Abe's father when he's in trouble. Immortality was the only major piece of the puzzle that I didn't have until two days ago."

His jaw dropped, and he stared at her. He remained motionless as her words appeared to sink in.

His body then began to sway. Jo lurched toward him. Before she could close the distance between them, he grew limp, and he collapsed to the ground.

Her heart began to race in fear of her partner dying in front of her. She slid to the ground next to him and checked his vitals, taking care to find a dry spot on his soaked wrist. The slow, faint beat began to grow stronger under her fingers, and his chest rose and fell as evenly as it always did. Reassured that he would live, she carefully examined him for injuries. To her satisfaction, there weren't any that she could see. If there was something wrong, he would probably tell her his symptoms when he came around.

She panted as her fears for his health began to subside. What had she said that had shocked him so badly? He wouldn't be terrified of someone saying that they believed him, would he?

A moment later, Henry groaned. She gently rolled him onto his back so he could get some more air. She frowned at a slightly fuller beard replacing his stubble. When was the last time that he had shaved?

Her eyes traced the mud that covered his usually well-kempt face. She reached over and brushed it off of him as best as she could. A part of her warned her that her touch was too intimate, but she pushed it aside. Knowing him, he would complain about looking dirty in public if she didn't.

A hint of blue under his open coat caught her eye. She narrowed her eyes. Had he worn the same clothes for the past two days? It wasn't like him to be in public without one of his three-piece suits or a sweater vest, and it certainly wasn't like him to pay so little attention to his appearance.

He blinked his eyes open as she dusted off the cheek that was farthest from her. "What happened?"

She pulled her lips together at his weak voice. "You passed out." Her eyes searched his while she brushed the last of the mud off his other cheek. "Are you okay? Do I need to call 9-1-1-?"

He furrowed his forehead like he usually did in thought. "I don't feel anything broken or damaged. I think I'll be fine. Besides, it's 9-9-9 here. It has been easier to dial without inadvertently calling someone else since it was created in 1935."

She suppressed her laugh. His slip into lecture mode, even with a weak voice, soothed her heart and, for a moment, her mind.

He unsuccessfully started to push himself up, and he grunted when his head and neck hit the ground again. She placed an arm around his back and eased him into a sitting position.

His brown eyes roamed her face, eventually landed on her own eyes. "Thanks." He sighed. "The last thing that I remember is you telling me that you believe that I'm immortal."

She bit her lower lip. She did not want him to faint again if she were to repeat what she had just said. Yet, his eyes begged her to confirm it.

She braced herself and crawled around him to keep a better eye on him. "I do. Like I said before you passed out, there were too many things that you said or did which didn't add up until a couple of days ago. In fact, I now know I've seen part of your death when we were on Grand Central's rooftop."

She nervously looked him in the eyes. To her surprise, his own searched hers again. He gaped at her as though he was seeing her for the first time.

She smiled at the memory. She had no idea then that the medical examiner whom she had been instructed to challenge would become one of the few people whom she deeply cared about.

He shakily started to uncross his leg. Knowing that he shouldn't be on his feet, she scanned the yard until she noticed an old stone bench near the small cemetery. To her, it didn't look like it could bear his weight, but she had no choice. She wasn't about to let them be arrested if someone were to see them on the stairs.

"Do you think you can walk?"

"I can try."

She helped him to his feet, wrapped her arms around him, and guided him toward the bench. She frowned at the sight of him looking like he wanted to throw up. She had seen him grossed out by soured milk before, but she had never seen him look ill. Actually, she didn't recall him ever being sick since they had started working together.

She swallowed at the thought of him killing himself to recover from an illness. Could that explain some of his arrests? How many times had Abe unsuccessfully tried to talk him out of it, and Henry had walked into work like nothing had happened?

She pushed those questions out of her mind. Now was not the time to think about that.

They finally reached the bench. Deciding to trust it, she helped him down on it. As she took a seat next to him, he bent over and drew several deep breaths. Uncertain as to what to say or do, Jo reached over and made several small circles across his back.

"Is this a part of your condition?" She swallowed. Abe had called Henry's immortality that.

Henry lifted his head and shook it. "It's not." He panted and turned to her. "I'm not used to telling anyone about it. Usually, when I do, it is after they had seen one of my deaths in its entirety."

She pulled her lips together. Any questions about how Abe learned about his condition and whether Abigail knew of it would have to wait until he was better. Then again, his story could wait as well.

Henry reached into his pocket. As he pulled out his pocket watch, Jo's eyes widened. She sighed in relief. She had no idea how good it felt to see it in his hand.

He quickly checked the time and rubbed his hands over his face. "If you don't mind, I would like to stay here for a bit longer. I might be weak for the next half-hour, and I don't want to risk injury if my legs fail to hold me."

She made another pass over his back. "What do you think happened?"

He lowered his gaze, debating with himself before turning to her. "The news that you believed me stimulated my vagus nerve and caused my blood pressure to rapidly drop. That, in turn, led to my fainting." He licked his lower lip as he looked as though he was trying to keep himself out of another memory. "It's been known to happen."

Henry sat quietly beside her, his eyes glazed over. She bit back all of her questions and thoughts. She wished that he would tell her what was bothering him. Maybe she could find some way to comfort him.

"Do you need some help?"

Jo snapped her head toward the voice and noticed an older gentleman walking toward them. She turned to Henry, letting him take the lead.

He immediately recognized the other man and stared at him for a moment. "I just needed some rest."

"Did your flight take your energy out of you?"

Henry nodded.

The man motioned toward Jo. "Who is she?"

Henry cocked his head toward her and gazed into her eyes. For a moment, she could feel herself getting lost in them. The moment that he broke his look to face the man, a tinge of disappointment rose up in her.

"A friend. I had suggested that she meet me here after she got up. She's not a morning person."

The man's eyes darted from her to the ME. "Do you want me to phone a taxi?"

"If you don't mind."

"Would you like to come in? It looks like it will rain again."

Under Henry's schooled expression, she could see him trying to control his panic. "No, thank you."

She cocked her head. What was it about the manor that was scaring him?

She pushed the thought aside. He would tell her when he was ready. If he ever would.

As the man turned to re-enter the house, Jo turned to him. "How…?"

He gazed into her eyes. "I had spotted him near the fence when I arrived, and I posed as a tourist who admired Georgian-era manors. I asked his permission to come in and view the house."

Jo nodded. He didn't have to say it, but he had covered for her trespassing onto the property.

"Where are you staying?"

"According to the signage, I've been staying at a budget hotel in Houslow." He heaved a sigh. "I haven't been there since…" He glanced away, and Jo knew that he was looking to see if the current owner was listening.

She licked her lower lip. She didn't want him out of her sight. "Why don't you come back with me to my hotel? I'm staying in Hammersmith."

He looked as though he was considering the idea. Finally, he nodded. "I would need to gather my belongings first."

"We'll do that."

She gave his back another rub. She couldn't believe her luck in finding him. Now, she hoped that she could begin to find her way through his past when he finally started to tell her his story.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I used Henry's flashbacks in "The Ecstasy of Agony" to set Henry's early life in Clapham. According to maps of London from the 1700s and early 1800s, the area was indeed quite rural in nature. In the present-day, the common and a few parks are the only open natural spaces that still exists and that hasn't been destroyed due to either age or the Blitz.

Yes, you can fall on your face while fainting if you sway just the right way. I looked it up.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note** : I hope that you will enjoy this chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

He still could not believe that he had fainted.

Henry stared at the road in front of the house as the next shower began to fall on him. He had frequently lost consciousness due to pain, injury, or illness, but he had _never_ passed out before. The only time that he had come close to it, he had witnessed his first surgery during his first month of medical school at Oxford. The sight of a copious amount of blood, something the son of a shipper had never seen before, had forced him to cling to a nearby wall in the operating theatre to remain upright. Had his desire to become a doctor not been strong enough to aid him in fighting the lightheadedness, he would have changed majors the next day…after he would have been released from the hospital. Yet, today, the unfamiliar sensation had become something that he did not want to experience ever again.

He pulled his lips together. He had always hated feeling vulnerable, weak. Blame it on his 18th-century upbringing, human nature, or his masculinity; he didn't know which had created it. Yet, the idea of being helpless had always made him uneasy, and his immortality had made the feeling worse over the years.

Something black appeared in the circle and transformed into a horse-drawn carriage. He closed his eyes and reminded himself that the neighs of two horses, the crack of a whip, and the creaks of an iron chassis did not resemble the roar of a 2.5-liter diesel engine in any manner.

"Are you okay?"

Jo's question sliced through the memory and cut it asunder. As he watched the past fall away, her hand glided between his shoulders. Each gentle pass sent a calming wave through his body.

He cocked his head toward her. "I will be."

She scooted to the edge of the bench, pushed herself off it, and handed him the open umbrella. In one fell swoop, she slipped one arm around his shoulders and enclosed her hand around the one holding their canopy. His body, usually resistant to Abe's attempts to physically assist him, completely surrendered itself to Jo's touch.

"Which side do you want?"

He took another look at the vehicle. It morphed again into the carriage that had taken him to the asylums. Although he was still weak, his legs tightened like they had on many occasions before.

Jo's eyes on him, he pulled himself out of his memory. He peered through the windshield at the driver and swallowed. He wasn't sure which memory would be worse: his carriage ride to the Charing Cross Asylum or Adam's psychopathic drive through Manhattan.

He quickly weighed his options and gathered his courage. "I'll take the driver's side." It shouldn't be too bad.

She led him to the door and opened it. Telling himself to remain calm, he crawled into the seat, each usually natural movement a chore. Once he was settled, Jo closed the door.

To distract himself until her arrival, he glanced into the rearview mirror. A red-headed man's green eyes met his. "Where to?"

"Houslow." Jo pronounced the name with nearly perfect enunciation as she slid in on the other side.

The body of the cab began to close in around him as it shifted into gear. His stomach, which had settled the moment of Jo's first pass over his back, began to revolt again. Beads of sweat pooled on his forehead. Given the situation, he could faint again very soon.

Something enclosed around his hand and squeezed it. Fearing the straitjacket, he started to tense. His eyes reluctantly trailed down to the source. A more delicate, smaller hand laid over his larger one. Curious, he followed the attached arm until his eyes met Jo's compassionate ones.

She squeezed his hand again. Once again, the past slipped out of his view. He dared to look through the rain-covered window at the house. Two hundred years had passed since he had last stepped foot on the property, and the life-altering events still felt as though they had happened yesterday.

As the estate receded into the distance, he marveled at the stark differences between then and now. Then, he was fighting for his freedom and expressing his feelings of betrayal toward a wife whom he had thought him to be insane. Now, he was voluntarily leaving the premises with a woman whom he deeply cared about and who believed him.

He turned back to Jo. How was it possible that she was here with him in London? That her objections to the unplanned nature of his flight had pierced his heart and rid him of his usual excuses and explanations? That her gentle tracing of the date of his first death had prevented him from immediately leaving the property, returning to his hotel, and taking off for another city? That her authoritative voice had cast a spell over him which stopped him from instinctively fleeing from her presence? That her steadfast, calm demeanor had broken through the memories which threatened to drown him and had pulled him out from its waves? That her belief was causing him to see her anew?

His eyes darted from speck to speck within her eyes. The first thing that he had become aware of when he had roused was her fingers dusting his cheeks. Her touch was extremely tender and caring…so much so that a part of him didn't want her to stop. Now, her eyes were rendering him incapable of doing anything but her bidding.

"What?"

Her surprised and joyful tone brought him back to his senses, and one corner of his mouth lifted itself to the sky. "I can't believe that you are here. I had thought that you were back in New York."

She shifted her weight so that she could face him. "Abe and Lucas had told me that you hadn't showed up for breakfast or work."

His gaze dropped to the seat between them. The thought had played around in his mind throughout the morning, but he had believed that Jo's skeptical nature would prompt her to act before either man would report his absence to her.

His heart ached for his son. He had greatly terrified the young man the last time that he had laid low, and it had forced him to plead with Abe when he had tried to run almost a year before.

He glanced at the spot where Jo typically hung her badge. He resisted the urge to gape at its absence. Their encounter at Aubrey Griffin's apartment flooded back. Either she was here with a team of Interpol agents or….

His heart began to race as he reluctantly pushed the next thought out of his mind. She had been very hesitant to take off for a romantic vacation even before they had discussed Paris. What would make him think that she was using her personal time now?

He licked his lower lip. "Does the NYPD know about this?"

Her eyes shifted to a spot between them and then back up to him. "I told Lt. Reece that you're being blackmailed and that you ran to protect us. She gave me time off and told me to take as much time as I needed to remind you that you're one of us."

Henry gaped at Jo. She had risked her job to cover for him?

"I—." Her voice cracked under the weight of her own secret. "I shouldn't have told her what you've told me, but I didn't know what else to tell her. I—."

He flipped his hand up, squeezed hers, and smiled. "You had done what you had felt was necessary. I can't fault you for it."

She glanced down at their entwined hands and smiled. "Thanks."

As he squeezed her hand again, his attention shifted to the cab driver. He braced himself for the other man's eavesdropping on their conversation. His eyes widened in surprise as he noticed the driver's concentration on the traffic.

He diverted his attention back to Jo. Her alertness and full awareness suggested that she had obtained a decent night's sleep. "When did you get in?"

She smiled. "This morning."

He cocked his head. Red eyes were notorious for being unpleasant. "How was your flight?"

"Surprisingly, it went pretty well. I had somehow managed to sleep with a crying baby in a seat three rows back." She chuckled. "I'm glad that I took Abe's advice to get something to chew on during takeoff. I grabbed some spearmint gum at a convenience store near JFK. It really helped me with my ears."

He returned her smile. His son had given her something that had worked for him in the past.

" _You left a_ _son_ _."_

Henry stared at her. He hadn't gotten that far into his story before they were interrupted. He leaned over and dropped his voice, hoping that the other man didn't overhear them. "How do you know about Abe?"

Her eyes drifted to their driver and back again. "I'll tell you later."

He glanced toward the other man. Fortunately, he didn't seem to hear anything.

His eyes started to get lost in Jo's again. Was she truly willing to keep his secret?

He swallowed and looked away. He had refused to tell it to Jo in part because he had never wanted to her to bear the burden of protecting his immortality if she had miraculously believed him. He had seen what it had done to Abigail and what it was doing to Abe. If Jo were to collapse under the weight of it, he would never forgive himself.

Yet, he had no choice but to tell her the truth. He could have lied about the photograph. She, however, possessed powers of observation and deduction that matched his own, and it would have been only a matter of time before she had deduced the truth about him. If that were to have happened, she would have surely hated him for not being forthright with her, and he never would have seen her again.

Her reflection in the rain-covered window caught his eye. At the same time, perhaps it had been a good thing that she had finally confronted him about his past. He had been growing tired of hiding everything from her. She…

" _If they knew more about you, their opinion would change."_

The fear for her future pierced his heart. She had accepted that he was immortal. Yet, what would happen if she learned about the rest of his reality? That he would not age and that he would outlive her? That he needed to violate the laws by falsifying his personal documents? That he was willing to do anything to protect his secret? That murder might become a way of life for him one day? Would her opinion change then?

Feeling slightly lightheaded again, he pivoted his face back to her hand in his. He needed to cease his more morbid thoughts. If not, he might faint again, and he preferred not to frighten Jo any more than he had today.

* * *

The elevator door opened onto Henry's floor. As much as he wanted to wait until Jo stepped forward, he allowed her to rest her hand on his back while he exited the car first. The lighter conversation about the city of his birth and their ride to the hotel had been instrumental in his convalescence. Yet, he hadn't realized how much his emotional state had physically drained him until he had stepped out of the cab and toddled toward the hotel's entrance.

"Which way?"

He pointed toward his room. "It's the fifth door on the left." He had noticed and memorized the number and the location when he had left hours ago.

Jo nudged his elbow and steered him into the hall. He smiled. Each step would have been arduous on his own. Yet, for whatever reason, her gentle touch and guidance was conveying her strength to him and enabling him to continue walking.

As they neared the door, he patted his pockets. He obviously had been able to enter the room yesterday, but how? He didn't notice any keys on his desk.

"What is it?" Jo's warm breath pleasantly tickled his neck. If it were not for her voice, the sensation would have rendered him delightfully motionless.

Although it was pointless, he instinctively lowered his eyes in a desperate attempt to hide his embarrassment. "I seem to have misplaced the keys to my room."

"Are they in there?"

He shook his head. "That's the strange thing. I didn't see any."

"How did you get in?"

He licked his lower lip. He couldn't tell her that he couldn't remember…not yet. "I don't know. Maybe I learned how to pick a lock from you."

They stopped, and his eyes landed on a metallic box above the door handle. A pair of lights and a slot adorned it. He cocked his head. He hadn't noticed it before. To him, it looked like a credit card reader that he had seen in stores and on vending machines.

He nodded his head toward it. "What's that?"

"That's an electronic lock." She guided him until his back rested against the wall. "You've never seen one before?"

"No, the last time that I had stayed in a hotel like this, it had a more traditional lock." That was when he had fled to Tokyo.

"Where are your card keys?"

"My huh?"

Wondering if she meant the credit cards that he had apparently received when he had checked in, he retrieved them from his pants pocket. "Do you mean these?"

She chuckled. "This really is your first time seeing one, huh?" She took them out of his hand. "Consider this a part of your introduction to the 21st century."

She eased one out of her hand and whipped it through the slot. In one swift movement, she reached down and twisted the handle. Henry's eyes widened as the door amazingly opened.

"How…?"

She held the door open with her foot, reached over, took him by the shoulder, and directed him over the threshold. "When Sean and I went on our honeymoon, our room had a similar lock. It took both of us a few tries, but we finally learned how to use it."

He shook his head in amazement. What would they think of next?

She eased him toward the bed. Once at the edge, he placed his hand on it and lowered himself onto the foot. He sighed. It felt incredible to get off his feet and rest.

Jo peered around the room and laughed. "This is gaudy, even for you."

Her laugh pealed like church bells ringing out one of Mozart's concertos. He glanced around the room. "Ever since Abe had heard about motels and budget hotels, he had always wanted to stay in one. When we travel together, I sometimes let him choose where we stay, and he always chooses a budget hotel."

Not hearing his son's voice and footsteps in the room twisted Henry's heart. It was the first time that they had been apart in almost a decade, and it was the first time in twenty years that he had fled because of his secret.

"… _a_ _son_."

He studied her. "How do you know that Abe is my son?"

She walked over to the desk. "Like father, like son." She turned to him. "When he called me to tell me that you were missing, he accidently slipped and called you 'Pops'. While I was at the shop to talk to him about your life in London, he told me that he uses 'Pops' most of the time when it's just the two of you and 'Dad' when he needs to be serious or when—."

Henry nodded his head. Abe also used it when he acted like a recalcitrant teenager.

Something on the desk arrested her attention. She gently picked up the object. He quickly checked his pocket and sighed in relief the moment that he felt the photo. Today, he wasn't ready for Jo's reaction should he tell her about what had happened to Abigail. The shock might cause him to faint again.

As Jo flipped through his passport, he gulped. She deserved the full truth, even if it might drive a deeper wedge between them. Perhaps he could tell her about his passport later today, tomorrow at the latest.

His eyes met hers again. She walked up to him, lowered herself on the bed, and took his hands into hers. "I don't mean to pry, but what happened to you?" Her eyes traveled the length of his body and back again, draining him of both speech and thought. "Are you wearing the same clothes that you had on the other day?"

He peeked down at his garments. "I checked them myself. They're fresher garments. The ones that you had seen me in the other day are back in the shop."

He glanced down at their hands. He should tell her as much as he could about that night. Hopefully, she wouldn't become more worried about him.

He peered back into her eyes. "I don't remember much about my flight here. All I recall is changing into clean clothes and then collapsing onto a bed. The next thing that I know, I was waking up here this morning." He sighed out of frustration. "Recent events must have triggered a state of shock that blocked out my memory of what happened."

Her mouth fell open. It struck him that she must have believed that he had become depressed in the meantime.

She offered a slight smile. "That explains your beard."

At that moment, it started to itch. He reached up and scratched it. It would refresh him if he got it off him.

Jo bit her bottom lip. "Do you still want to come to my hotel? If you think that you will feel more comfortable here, I could come back tomorrow."

Henry glanced around the room. Honestly, he couldn't stand the idea of remaining here alone and knowing that Jo was across town. It would be nice to invite her to his room and spend time with her like she did when she visited the shop. Idealistically, he could invite her to stay in this hotel, but the NYPD was likely paying for Jo's room.

His eyes traveled to his suitcase. Even with a refund, he had just enough money to finance his own room in Jo's hotel for a week. After that….

His chest tightened. He wasn't so sure that he wanted to continue his flight into a new life anymore. Despite his fears of possibly ruining his and Jo's relationship, he had no real desire to leave her behind. He didn't realize how much he missed having her by his side.

He looked back at her. "When do we leave?"

* * *

Henry walked up to the desk and laid his arms on it. The clerk wandered through the space between it and the wall, oblivious to the customer as he talked into his receiver. Judging from the conversation, one of the hotel's guests clearly was not pleased with their reservation.

Henry rotated until he faced Jo waiting in the hotel's lobby behind him. His mouth slacked as he took the sight of her in. He was unworthy of her mercy, and he would have accepted her decision to place him in prison. Yet, her compassion was casting a spell over him which was strengthening his desire to tell her his life's story.

" _When you suffer from our condition, you realize murder, it's just a part of life."_

He swallowed at the thought. For Jo, it had been easy to lie about minor details. After all, she had covered up Abe's involvement in their break-in of Isaac's warehouse and Abe's theft of both The Frenchman's ledger and Clausten's financial documents. If he were to admit to his more recent actions, she would feel differently.

Her eyes caught his. Even if they were nine meters apart, he could feel himself getting lost in them as though they were face-to-face.

"Can I help you?"

Henry slightly startled as he swiveled back to the masculine voice. "Yes." His eyes met the clerk's. "I would like to get a room here."

"You're not staying in your girlfriend's room?"

 _My girlfriend?_ "Pardon?"

"The brunette you were staring at."

 _What?! Jo?!_ "We're not dating."

The other man stared at him, seemingly unconvinced about his assertion. Henry's cheeks flushed. Admittedly, he had taken a small amount of pleasure in the last time that someone—a nurse—had mistaken them for a couple. At the time, he had believed that he was merely distracted by the boy in his arms, but when he had looked at Jo in the karaoke bar….

His vision grew misty. What he would do to regain their closeness. If it were possible to sacrifice his immortality, he would. Since he could not, he would immediately surrender his destructive tendencies and strive to lead a more honest life. He would….

"How long will you be staying?"

Henry's head snapped up at the clerk. "A week." That should be enough time to determine what to do next.

As the man quoted the price, Henry's eyes grew wider. It was cheaper than he had expected. He quickly removed his money from his pocket. The clerk ogled the wad as Henry counted out the correct amount.

He lowered his eyes while he pocketed the remaining cash. Abe had always encouraged him to carry a credit card instead. He had always disliked the notion of replacing yet another item in his wallet following a death, and his work with Jo had opened his eyes to the way both companies and law enforcement could track his movements and purchase patterns. Yet, the reactions of both hotels' clerks had left him feeling uncharacteristically uncomfortable with using large amounts of cash. Perhaps he should reconsider his position on the matter soon.

A moment later, the clerk appeared with a pair of cards like he had turned in at the other hotel. Henry gulped as he accepted them. He hoped that he would be able to use one without requiring Jo's assistance every time that he needed to enter his room.

He turned around and slowly headed to her. She lifted his suitcase and came to him. A twinge of guilt filled him. He was raised to carry objects for a woman as she was his superior. To allow her to bear a burden would have been viewed as disrespectful. Yet, times were different, and women expected men to share the burden. As Jo was a woman of her era, he should expect no less from her.

"Are you ready?" She slid a hand around him and rested it in the middle of his back. Her warmth spread throughout his body.

"I think so." His eyes travelled to his luggage. "Would you like for me to carry that? I'm feeling stronger now."

"Nonsense. You would do the same for me if I were in your position." She steered him toward the elevators. "What is your room number?"

"5205."

She chortled. "That's next door to me." She turned to him and bit her lip. "Are you okay with that, or….?

Her question ripped his heart. Did she believe that she had made him uncomfortable again? With her, the only thing that had made him uneasy around her was his fear of her rejection. "I've shared a room with a woman before marriage before, most notably Abigail."

At the mention of his wife's name, his air caught in his throat. It was a long time ago, but their time together still felt like it had happened yesterday.

While they neared the elevator, Jo stroked his back. Henry used it to distract himself. Now was not the time to grieve…not yet. When he had time and courage, he would do it then.

"Hey!" Jo's voice drew his attention. "Do you want me to bring you something for dinner later?"

He bit his lower lip. He hadn't had a sandwich from a Hammersmith sandwich shop in about a decade, and that was the night before he had returned to New York from Oxford. "This area has quite a few excellent delis and take-out restaurants. I insist on paying for your meal tonight."

"It's a deal." She grinned. "I think I'm getting spoiled on what you've bought for me."

He peeked at her and smiled. He had always enjoyed being able to treat her to the finer things in life, and a part of him wanted to continue it. "It's been my pleasure."

A few moments later, they entered a hallway on the fifth floor and turned the corner. Fortunately, signs pointing the way supplemented her memory of checking in.

The moment that they arrived at his door, Henry pulled a card from his pocket. He studied the lock, noticed the diagram on top, turned the card around, and swiped it. Remembering how Jo turned the handle, he emulated her movement. To his surprise, the door opened just as effortlessly for him as it had for her.

He gaped at it. "How did I do that yesterday? I usually have a difficult time learning how to use anything electronic." He barely knew how a computer worked, let alone operate one.

Jo eased by him and dropped his suitcase on the ground. "Maybe technology comes more easily to you when you're not overthinking it."

He nodded. Perhaps her point had some merit. He had learned how to operate most of the modern equipment in the OCME once he had realized that they functioned on the same scientific principles that he had learned over the years. And he knew how to make a call on any type of cell phone because of his awakenings.

She covered her mouth, yawned, and blinked. Another twinge of guilt pierced through him. She had been so attentive to his needs that she had neglected her own.

He gazed at her. "Why don't you get some rest?"

"I think I will." She headed to the door. "Try to get some yourself. If you need anything, don't hesitate to knock on my door."

"I will. I guess that I will see you later."

As he watched her leave, he shook his head in amazement. What did he ever do to deserve her?

" _If they knew more about you…"_

Henry shoved Adam's prediction out of his mind. He wanted to enjoy the potential renewal his and Jo's friendship for as long as possible. It was, of the moment, the only thing that was giving him a small degree of hope that he was wrong about his inability to return to New York and resume his life there once again.

He surveyed his new surroundings and laughed heartily for the first time in what felt like ages. Lt. Reece had better taste than his son. Although this budget hotel room was as modern as his old one, the furnishings and colors were closer to his liking. For now, it would do.

He shivered as the heater came on. Perhaps a hot shower would warm him up. After that, perhaps he could get some rest.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** For those using the English system (like me), nine meters is about 30 feet.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Jo peeked at the bag as she started for Henry's room. Their orders had looked so tempting. It was taking everything within her to not reach in and take a bite out of hers now.

Her thoughts soon drifted to her partner. She pulled her lips together as the memories tumbled in her head. As much as she wanted to know his story, she should let him tell it when he was ready. There was something in it that was clearly bothering him all these years later.

Her heart pounded with each step closer to his door. She juggled the sandwiches and the two bottles of water to keep her shaking hands from dropping them. He had seemed much calmer when she had left him. What if his thoughts scared him and caused him to run again, this time disappearing without a trace? What if he never wanted to return to New York? Could that painful memory be so powerful that it could keep them apart forever?

She squared her tensing shoulders and swallowed as she approached the door. There was only one way to find out.

She shoved everything into one arm, raised her free hand, and rapped on the door. At the sound of a rustle of paper and footsteps coming toward the door, she sighed in relief. She had no idea what she had said or done. Whatever it was, though, it had convinced him to stay put.

A moment later, the door swung open, unveiling a more refreshed Henry. HIs lopsided grin drained the tension from her. "Detective."

He stepped aside to let her in. Jo grinned as she eased by him. "You give some great directions. I had come up on the shop before I knew it."

Setting the contents of her arms on the desk, she took a glance at him and his tousled hair in the mirror. From what she could tell, he had taken a nap while she was gone.

"How do you feel?" Before she had left, it seemed as though his shower had sapped whatever energy that he had regained out of him.

"Much better. I had just opened up the newspaper when you arrived." He rolled his shoulders. "I hadn't realized how much everything had drained me."

She pulled her lips together. She hated to see him in pain. "Do you need some aspirin? I could run to the pharmacy and get you some."

He shook his head. "I bought a small bottle when I was out earlier this morning. I'll take some if I need it."

She nodded. She hadn't thought of that.

Henry ran one hand behind his head and placed the other on his hip. His eyes met hers. "I've woven quite the tangled web for you."

"I've heard worse." Smiling, Jo turned back to him. "Suspects don't fanboy over Gershwin and Cecille de Mille as though they're still living down the street from a witness's brownstone."

"I was not 'fanboying', as you call it." He grinned as she thrusted his sandwich at him. "I was merely delighting in my reminiscence of them." He tilted his head and happily sighed. "George and Cecille were excellent friends when they were alive. I wish that you could have met them. I believe that you would have liked them, and they you."

He then sobered. "And, for your information, no, I never told them about my condition. As far as they were concerned, I was a recent British émigré who had wandered into their neighborhood and liked it enough to take up residence there." He glanced away for a moment, almost as if he was ashamed of something else.

Sensing that he needed a distraction, Jo waved a bottle of water at him. "Here."

While he accepted it, her eyes roamed his. How did his heart trust her with that piece of information when they had barely known each other? Maybe Abe was right. Maybe, somehow, Henry had come to think of her as a special person even back then.

He looked over his shoulder to the bed and the sofa. "Where do you want to sit?" He gave her another lopsided grin, this one causing her knees to wobble and her cheeks to warm. "Lady's choice."

Jo pointed her water toward the sofa. "I don't know about you, but I don't like crumbs on my bed."

He softly chuckled. "I don't either. The sofa, it is." He motioned toward it with the hand holding his sandwich. "After you."

She grinned as they headed toward the piece of furniture. He didn't know how good it was to see him acting like his old self.

His _old_ self.

She slid down onto the semi-soft seat. "1779?"

He nodded as he unwrapped the package. "Sometimes it's difficult for me to believe that I have been alive for that long as well." He licked his bottom lip. "My childhood still feels like it had happened yesterday." He shifted himself until he was almost facing her. "Let's see—."

Remembering her promise to herself, Jo dropped her sandwich and covered his free hand with hers. "Henry, you don't have to tell me your story today. You can tell me later."

His eyes widened, and the same look that he had worn when he had told her that he was shot returned to his face. "I want to." He momentarily broke his gaze. "I've wanted to on numerous occasions over the past nine months."

She couldn't refuse him, and she nodded her permission for him to start.

He took a huge bite of his sandwich and swallowed it. He studied it. "I didn't realize how famished I was. I had forced myself to eat half of my breakfast this morning."

He shrugged, ate another bite, and locked eyes with her. "I was born to Robert and Diana Morgan in a house a couple of blocks away from the Common on Broome Street. Father was a junior executive in our family company, Morgan Shipping. Two years after my birth, my brother Edward joined us, and within the next four years, we had welcomed my younger sisters Grace and Hannah into our family."

She nodded at his parents' names. She had seen them on the tombstones next to Henry's while she had left his side to retrieve her umbrella.

His eyes glazed over, and a smile spread on his lips. "My siblings and I led an idyllic childhood. Playing in the nursery under the watchful eye of our nursemaid. Learning to swim in Mt. Pond. Listening to Father's and my Grandfather David's stories about Benjamin Franklin's experiments and life in Clapham. Riding horses through the Common. Going on family outings with Mother and Father. Grace would write plays or stories based on something that we had seen or heard, and we would act the plays out for our parents."

He chuckled. "Edward and I created quite a bit of mischief by pulling pranks on the servants, our siblings, and the occasional visitor." His grin grew wider. "Once, we had snuck up on Reverend Caddell, a friend of my father's, and startled him as he visited with Father and Grandfather. Father was outraged, saying that our conduct was unbefitting of young men. Yet, we didn't care; to us and almost everyone else, it was in fun." He glanced back down at his lap before giving her a sheepish look. "Fortunately, Reverend Caddell forgave us for the prank. To this day, I'm not sure if Edward's surrender of the stick that we used to tickle him or my speech had convinced him that we didn't mean any harm."

Jo rolled her eyes. Why _wasn't_ she surprised by that?

She finally took a bite of her sandwich. She closed her eyes and savored the morsel. What didn't the British do well?

"What is it?"

Henry's voice cut through her ecstasy. Her eyes flew open. "I can see why you raved about the sandwich shop."

He swallowed the contents of his mouth and reached for his bottle. "Frankly, I was worried that you might not like it. Some people need to acquire a taste for the food from there."

"Well, you were wrong about that." She took another bite, and his tombstone flashed before her. "When did you move to the estate? It obviously had to be before your first death."

Henry looked into her eyes again. "1785. We moved there both to remove us children from the bad air, as suggested by the medical evidence at the time, and to assist my grandfather in the care of my grandmother. I stayed there until I was accepted into St. Paul's School. After that, I would visit on holidays while I attended school."

He sobered, set his meal beside him, and pulled his arms close to his body. "When I was fourteen, I had returned home for the holiday season, and the Longworths, my maternal grandparents, came from Oxfordshire for a visit. We had beef our first evening together. A few hours later, all of us fell ill. Almost everyone recovered within four days." He drew in some air. "Hannah, who was born frail six years before, had remained ill, and she rapidly grew weaker. On the fourth day, I dropped by her room to see how she was doing. I, um, I couldn't wake her."

His eyes watered, and he reached up to swipe away the coming tears. "Before I, before I could leave the room to find someone, I, um…." He sniffled as a tear flowed down his cheek. "I watched her take her last breath. It was the first time that I had seen anyone die." He drew another deep breath. "We buried her in Holy Trinity Church's cemetery, where we would bury Grace and Edward within the next two years. In the 20th century, I discovered that Hannah had suffered from acute kidney failure caused by _E. coli_ -tainted beef."

Jo wiped the tears in her own eyes. No wonder why he had no sense of self-preservation. He had lost so many people in his life that he didn't want to lose anyone else.

She wrapped her hand around his and squeezed it. "I am so sorry. That is awful."

His Adam's apple bobbing, he nodded. After a moment, he schooled his expression and gave her a small smile. "I suppose there may have been one good thing to come from it."

"What was that?"

He cocked his head. "My siblings' deaths were the reasons why I became a doctor."

Jo glanced down at the seat between them. She had been so curious about his decision to become an ME that she had never thought of asking him about his decision to become a doctor.

She bit her sandwich again. She didn't want him to get lost in another bad memory. "What were you like back then?" She kicked herself for not specifying. Knowing him, he might talk about his life as a doctor. "I mean, as a teenager?"

Henry chuckled. "Not much different from the man before you." He nibbled the edge of his sandwich. "Only a little shorter—a bit shorter than Hanson, actually—and with curly hair that refused to stay in my queue. Of course, I had far less knowledge of the world back then." He rolled his tongue in his mouth. "I preferred to remain in my studies rather than taking part in my fellow classmates' shenanigans. My first few days at St. Paul's, a couple of older boys beat me up because I had learned Greek and Latin at a day grammar school instead of from a private tutor. They stopped when I learned how to fight back."

"Latin?" Jo's eyes lit up. "That's how you learned it." She chuckled. "Guam sounded a little too far-fetched."

Her mouth fell open. There was no way that he could say anything about it. Or about anything else in his past for that matter. No one would believe him if he told them the truth.

As she reached for her water bottle, his hand brushed against hers. The tingling that was spreading up her arm coaxed her to raise her eyes to meet his.

When they pulled their bottles to them, they exchanged shy smiles. Jo brushed her hair behind her ear. It was the first time that she knew of that he had looked at her like that.

She blinked and shook her head. She shouldn't be thinking of that now. They were just friends. Nothing more.

"Did you have any friends?" He had seemed to enjoy everyone's company when they were at the karaoke bar a few weeks ago. She couldn't imagine him spending all of his time studying.

He closed his bottle. "Quite a few. Even after I had become a doctor, I had managed to maintain a fairly active social life." He shifted his weight and smiled. "My friends at the Diogenes Club—."

Henry's face suddenly fell, and he looked away from her.

Jo cocked her head. "What? Did they do something to you?" Did he tell them that he was immortal, and they didn't believe him? Was that why he was so tight-lipped about his past?

He shook his head. "They were some of my closest friends."

Seeing that she was losing Henry to what was apparently an unpleasant memory, she set her food aside and gently nudged him. "What happened? You can tell me."

He slowly appeared to regain an awareness of her and took a deep breath. "In 1812, I had joined my friends at the Diogenes Club when they introduced me to a friend of theirs. He asked me if my family owned Morgan Shipping, which I naturally confirmed. He promptly informed me that the company was one of the largest slave traders in the West Indies."

His face darkened, and his gaze strayed from her. "As I was mainly uninvolved with the company, I was very highly skeptical of his claims. I, however, immediately confronted my father about it since we were staunch abolitionists. Or, at least I had thought we had been."

He sucked in some air. "Father asserted that he had taken up the abominable practice to repay the loans that he had taken out three years prior and to keep our belongings and our estate in our possession. At that moment, I could no longer see him as the honest and good man that I thought he was, and I broke off all contact with him. We didn't speak again until he was on his deathbed. After he died in January 1814, I, um, I…"

He bowed himself over his knees, closed his eyes, and took a few deep breaths. For a moment, his pale face sent a cold wave through Jo's body.

She found his hand, tugged it away from its partner, and slipped hers around it. After a few quiet minutes, he finally noticed them and looked back up at her. His eyes roamed hers, almost as if they were seeking her assurance.

"I boarded _The Empress of Africa_ as the ship's doctor. I, um,—."

Jo's eyes widened at the name. Henry _knew_ that ship.

 _Wait a minute._

Isaac had told her on a date that one of his ancestors and 299 others had revolted and had sailed to freedom after one of the ship's crew had died and dropped a key. At the same time, Henry had once mentioned that a doctor who had boarded a slave ship had owned his watch before him.

But she had always found Henry's watch at the scene of one of his deaths. That would mean…

" _I was shot."_

 _Henry Morgan. Born September 19th, 1779. Died April 7th, 1814._

She briefly closed her eyes. That explained Henry's obsession with the ship while they had investigated Rick Rasmussen's murder. And his reaction now.

" _The Empress_ was the site of your first death."

He stared at her. He then nodded.

"I…" He softly chuckled. "This is the first time in a very long time that I have done this."

She took her free hand and started to rub his back. She pushed the question about the last time that he had told anyone about his immortality without dying out of her mind. Some things were more important than that.

"Why did you board _The Empress_? Couldn't you have taken what you have found to the authorities?" It might have been the one part of the story that _didn't_ make sense.

He shook his head and took yet another deep breath. "In 1807, Parliament had passed the Slave Trade Act, establishing the Anti-Slavery Squadrons and making slavery illegal throughout the British Empire. The government, hoping to stop the slavers, signed anti-slavery treaties with other countries engaged in the practice, including the United States. However well-intended the laws were, their enforcement was quite lax. Before my voyage aboard _The Empress_ , I learned from another ship's captain that the company had been using the flags of Portugal and Spain, falsified registration papers, and our own legitimate shipments to West Africa to evade the squadrons. I felt that a slave revolt aboard the ship was the only way to end the company's practice and to destroy what my father had built."

"Were you successful?" She already knew the answer, but she wanted him to keep going.

His gaze drifted past her. "Until a month ago, I had believed that I wasn't." He licked his lower lip. "I had planned to give them the key to their cells and manacles, lead them to the armory, and then take over the ship. I got as far as getting the key. The captain had noticed it missing and confronted me about it, warning me that he didn't care that I was the owner's son, that I must abide by his rules. Just then, we were interrupted…"

He finally unfolded himself. "The captain and I were interrupted by one of the crew members informing us that one of the slaves had become ill. I went up deck and examined him. Several of the crew members and the captain, fearing a case of cholera, advocated throwing the man overboard. He had a slight fever with no symptoms of the disease, so I felt that he was fit to stay with the women and children during the revolt. The captain ordered me to step aside, but I refused."

He took another deep breath. "He, um, he shot me in the chest. I remember coming to in time to discover two crew members throwing me overboard, and I remember my life flashing before my eyes as I took my last breath beneath the waves."

He bowed his head and examined their intertwined hands before looking back into her eyes. "I have spent 200 years trying to figure out what had happened from that moment until the first time that I had found myself underwater and in very desperate need of air. All that I know is that, during that time, I was transformed into an immortal."

She briefly broke her gaze to hide her tears. She should have known that not knowing the cause of his immorality would frustrate him. He was a man of science, and it stood to reason that he might not believe his condition either. At the same time, she could only imagine what his thoughts were when he had come out of the water for the first time.

One side of his lips rose. "For 200 years, I had blamed myself for the 300 souls' continued enslavement and their deaths in captivity. After we questioned Isaac, I followed him and asked him about the ship. He informed me that I had dropped the key when I was shot. They freed themselves, took over the ship, and sailed it to their freedom."

Jo smiled. She had always viewed him as a hero when he treated whoever had become ill during one of their interviews. Yet, she had never seen him like this, like what others had thought of when they were asked to name one.

She pulled her lips together when she noticed that he had twisted back toward his knees. What was wrong?

His back rose and fell. He looked back up her, his eyebrows raised. "My immortality is also why I must falsify my legal documents and my resume."

Jo froze. Was he confessing to a crime?

His eyes roamed hers for what felt like an eternity. He heaved a sigh. "The majority of my major documents are real. If I learn that I need one, I apply for it immediately. When I hear about any changes to them, I request a new one, typically saying that either I had lost it or it contains the wrong information. Occasionally I have to spend some time here in the UK or in the US so that I can obtain the document. If I need a degree for employment, I return to school to update my skills. The only document which is forged is my birth certificate, and that is for obvious reasons."

He tensed even more. A pair of memories raced through her mind. Liz Chamberlin. Had she…?

"That explains the discrepancies between what Mike had discovered in your background check and what Liz Chamberlin had sent me."

He snapped his head toward her and then nodded.

She studied him for a moment. The law certainly didn't cover this.

"What about your legal status?" She hated the idea that he could be deported for something that he couldn't help.

He dropped his eyes. "Technically, I'm a legal citizen of both countries as the immigration laws in the US didn't cover British citizens until the early 1940s. I had first immigrated to the US in 1889 and the last time…" He choked back his emotions.

She pulled her lips together. Why was that one so emotional for him?

Henry slowly turned to her. "I had always been careful to ensure that everything is as legal as possible. I—."

"Henry." She squeezed his hand. "I'm not going to arrest you. Your secret is safe with me."

As he studied her expression, her heart broke. Was his life with Abigail and Abe the first time in nearly two centuries that he was able to have anything that resembles a normal life?

"It hasn't been easy for you, worrying about what could happen if you're caught."

He stared at her for a moment and shook his head.

She resumed rubbing his back. "If you are ever caught, we'll find a way out for you." She made a quick note to check for a legal loophole that he might be able to exploit. If she couldn't find anything in Sean's law books or online, maybe she could discreetly ask someone about it.

With each pass, Henry began to relax. After a few minutes, he straightened back up. "Thanks."

They reached for their sandwiches. Once again, their hands brushed against each other. They smiled at each other as they picked up their food.

She grinned at him. "So, what is the story about Oxford? Did you really go there?"

He nodded. "Twice. The first time in 1797, and the second one just before I had joined the OCME. I had only claimed to earn a medical degree from the University of Guam, where I had indeed earned an MPH, to keep people from discovering my first degree from Oxford." He smiled. "It was strange returning to my alma mater after all those years…"

As he started another story, she pushed the nagging suspicion that his first death wasn't the memory that was troubling him out of her mind. For the first time in the past couple of weeks, Henry was sounding more normal by the minute. And she was going to enjoy it.

* * *

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Henry grinned at Jo. "Good night, Jo."

"Night."

He closed the door behind her, leaned against it, and closed his eyes. How foolish was he to have doubted Jo's friendship. Her continual concern for his wellbeing—both physical and emotional—had provided him with an anchor to hold on to when the memories had threatened to submerge him into their depths. At the same time, seeing her joy during most of his stories had made him wish that he had told her the truth sooner.

He strolled back toward the desk, his feet feeling as though they barely touched the ground. He grinned as his and Jo's conversation echoed in his mind. He didn't know what it was about Jo, but it had always been easier to talk to her than to anyone else other than Abigail and Abe. Even easier to talk to than Nora.

He shook himself out of the memories before they could rise up and take hold. He was in a good mood, and he didn't want them to ruin it.

He stopped at the sofa and removed their trash from their seats. In the hours that he and Jo had spent together, it had felt as though things were returning to the way they were two weeks ago. Perhaps, it wouldn't be long before he would join her in New York again.

Henry glanced at the newspapers sitting on the foot of the bed. He would read them in a few minutes. It would be great to catch up on recent events before he started his day tomorrow.

As he threw the paper and the bottles into the trash receptacle next to the desk, his eyes landed on the photo. He picked it up and study it. The day that Jo returned it felt as though it had happened ages ago. Perhaps he could tell her about the picture soon. He owed her that much.

" _I was hoping that you could explain it to me."_

" _When you suffer from our condition, you realize murder, it's just a part of life."_

His hands shaking, he laid the picture back on the desk. One day, he would have to tell Jo about Adam. She likely sensed that he hadn't told her the whole story yet, and she would ask him more about it. If she were to inquire about what had happened in the tunnel…

Henry took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Hopefully, he would never tell her about that. Tonight, he was becoming more convinced that Jo would remain his friend no matter what happened. And he was determined to do anything to keep Adam from ruining it.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Henry's early educational background comes from the University of Michigan's "A Privileged Existence" and Wikipedia articles on grammar schools and St. Paul's School, London.

The information on the UK's involvement in the slave trade after the Slave Trade Act of 1807 comes from the University of London's Institute of Historical Research's "Britain, slavery and the trade in enslaved Africans", Stephen Shapiro's review of the book _After Abolition: Britain and the Slave Trade Since 1807_ , and The Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade Database's "Construction of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade Database: Sources and Methods—National Carriers".


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note** : I hope that you will enjoy it.

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

Jo's eyes fluttered open as the morning sun shone through the window. She startled at the sight around her and thrusted herself into a sitting position. She wasn't in her bedroom, and she wasn't in New York.

As her mind began to wake up, her body relaxed. With the differences in time zones, she had expected to have a hard time getting to bed last night. Yet, she had slept as readily here as she had during her flight.

The pillow called her name. Wanting a few more minutes of sleep, she started to lay down again. At that moment, her stomach growled and grumbled its protest.

She lifted the cover off her and sighed. "Martinez, it's time to get up."

She rubbed her hands over her face as she began her morning routine. She didn't realize how much her worry about Henry had drained her until the second her head had hit the pillow last night. Maybe that was why she had an easy time sleeping.

She smiled as she finished brushing her hair. Still, she had enjoyed hearing Henry talk about his real work and school experiences last night. With each tale, he had grown more animated…almost as if he was describing a death. For those brief few hours, she had seen a fire of life in his eyes that made her wish she could find some way to keep it alive in him forever.

The moment that he paused before mentioning his experience as a life insurance salesman ran through her mind. She pulled her lips together. He had glossed over the reason he had left the medical profession again. She couldn't help but to feel that, somehow, it was connected to a painful memory.

Her stomach reminded her of its need. She left her room, headed to Henry's door, and rapped on it to see if he was interested in breakfast. As she waited, the bathroom door creaked open, and footsteps quickened. She grinned. For the first time since he had fled, it felt like he would return to New York with her.

The door swung open, and a freshly-shaven Henry appeared in the doorway wearing only his boxer-briefs. She opened and closed her mouth several times as her eyes swept down and back up him. He had just answered two questions that she had never thought of asking.

He shifted his weight, and a lopsided grin grew on his face. "Jo! I didn't think that you would be up this early."

She averted her eyes the moment that his slight blush encouraged her own cheeks to warm. "I've just woken up myself."

They gazed into each other's eyes, hers roaming his brown ones. She stood there absolutely breathless at the sight. She could do this all day.

At that moment, the alarm signaling that the door was ajar sounded. Henry shook himself out of his state and glared at the lock. He turned back to her. "Would you like to come in?"

The beeping reverberated in her head. Nodding, she accepted his offer and joined him in the room. Her eyes travelled to the NYPD t-shirt draped over the foot of the bed. She cocked her head as she took a seat on the sofa across the room. Why…?

"My apologies for being undressed." He removed some clothes from the suitcase sitting on the bed and faced her. "I usually have a shirt on most nights. I find that it tends to minimize questions about my scar if I must answer the door."

She blinked and nodded once his words registered.

As he entered the bathroom, she found herself unable to take her eyes off him. What on earth did he do in those first 35 years to get himself into that shape? Horseback riding, swimming, and walking alone couldn't explain it.

The door closed, pulling her out of her haze. Feeling her cheeks warm even more, she blinked and shook her head. _Get a grip on yourself. You've seen him shirtless before_. _And you're friends, nothing more_.

Wanting to kill her embarrassment, Jo glanced down at the clothes in the opened suitcase. She furrowed her eyebrows. She didn't see a vest in it. Where were his three-piece suits?

Her eyes travelled back to the NYPD shirt. She pulled her lips together. "I don't want to pry, but why did you bring only dress shirts and pants with you?"

"I don't know." The frustration in his voice called out to her. "I think that I might have divested myself of anything that made me look conspicuous in public."

"Like a NYPD t-shirt won't?"

He chuckled. "Touché."

A piece of paper shone against the desk's faux wood surface. She eased off the sofa and moved toward it. Her eyes widened at the sight of the black-and-white photograph of Henry and his family from the 1940s.

She picked it up, carried it to the bed, and sat down. She shook her head in amazement as she studied the picture again. Admittedly, she was a little jealous of the woman—and angry at Henry for not saying how he had gained paternal instincts—when she had initially found the photo. Now, knowing that the woman was Abigail, she couldn't fault him for it.

Her eyes traveled to Abe, and they crinkled. Abe looked nothing like either of his parents. Which suggests that he was adopted. How did he become a part of their family?

She eyed the closed bathroom door. "When was this taken?"

"When was what taken?" Henry's slightly muffled voice almost sounded like Sean's when he was shaving.

The image of her and Sean's morning routine when they both were home danced before her, and she averted her eyes to keep herself in the present. "This picture of you, Abigail, and Abe."

"That one." The comment sounded more like a reminder to himself. "November 1945, here in London…Southwark, actually."

Her eyes traveled down to the photo and back to her unseen partner. Abe wasn't born in the United States? How…?

He chuckled. "It was our first family picture. The camera took what felt like an eternity to set up in the late autumn chill. When it was finally ready, I couldn't figure out how to work the timer, and Abigail walked me through it. I had barely stepped into the frame and posed in time for the shutter to close. We were worried that Abe would have grown fussy, but he had seemed quite fascinated by the process."

She smiled. That sounded familiar.

The door opened, and he entered the room, his black shirt highlighting his dirty laundry. He ran a hand over his face.

She swallowed as he found his t-shirt and set it with the rest of his clothes. She wanted to ask him about Abigail and Abe, but she didn't know how…or if she should. Who knew? Maybe Abigail was the source of his reluctance to open up to her.

Jo watched him as he turned around and started back toward her. "How did you meet Abigail and Abe?" The question tumbled out before she could stop it.

Henry sat down next to her and gently took the picture from her hand. "I met them at the same time." He shifted himself until he was face-to-face with her. "It was toward the end of World War II—."

Her jaw dropped. He had never said anything about military service. "Wait. You were in a war?" He was traumatized by his killing Clark Walker in self-defense. She couldn't imagine him being a soldier.

He nodded. "I was drafted as an American army medic. My first taste of action then was on D-Day. An artillery shell had hit me during the landing on Omaha Beach, and I awoke near Sword Beach almost 41 miles away."

She quickly lowered her eyes. That somehow sounded more like him.

A smile grew on his face. "At the time, I had joined another American medic unit. We had arrived just as one of the concentration camps was liberated. I spent part of that evening performing triage." He gazed down at the photo, his eyes growing more distant by the second. "I had finished sending an injured man to the surgeons when I felt that I needed a break. The moment that I turned around, I heard a strong infant's cry. It was rather unusual to hear that; we had frequently discovered weak or deceased infants and children in the camps." His Adam's apple bobbed at whatever thought that he had.

"Anyway, my curiosity got the best of me, and I wandered over to investigate." His eyes glazed over, and another smile crept onto his face. "Abigail stood before me as though she was an angel in the battlefield. I was instantly stricken by her beauty. She asked me if I were a doctor, and she proceeded to tell me that they had found the healthy baby boy in a camp. She placed Abe in my arms, and…" His smile grew wider. "I found myself wanting to do anything for him."

Jo stared at Abe's image. She gaped in amazement at his miraculous survival of the Holocaust. She turned back to her partner, who was full of fatherly affection.

"You adopted him at that moment."

He peered at her. "In my heart, yes, but it took longer for me to admit it to myself." He chuckled and laid his free hand on his knee. "Within a few days, we had set up a temporary hospital, complete with a nursery, in the camp. I volunteered to make rounds in the nursery because of Abe and a certain nurse who had caught my fancy. Abigail and I talked during our joint breaks and our time with Abe, and she noticed my growing affection for both of them. One day, she suggested that we adopt him. I was very hesitant to even consider it. At the time, I felt that I couldn't bear the loss of yet another person in my life, let alone two." He gave her a small smile as his eyes glistened.

He sighed and briefly lowered his eyes. "When we received orders to ship out to Milan, the staff began to relocate the children to the orphanages. Not wanting to lose Abe, I convinced Abigail to pose as my wife to keep him. She quickly agreed, and we found a chaplain who was willing to issue us a marriage license without officially marrying us. The next morning, Dr. Fitzroy, my superior, came for Abe. I forbade him to remove my son from his crib. Needless to say, Dr. Fitzroy wasn't pleased that I had defied his orders to send our Abraham to the orphanage, but he fortunately let us keep him."

Jo gazed into his eyes. "Did you go to Milan?"

He studied her for a moment and nodded. "I was falling deeper in love with Abigail, but I felt that, because of my condition, it was best if we parted before she discovered the truth about me. I wrote her a letter and left both her and Abe in our hotel there."

A gasp escaped from Jo's lips before she had the chance to stop it. What had possessed him to try to abandon the two people closest to him?

He licked his lower lip. "Abigail tracked me down and confronted me about my decision, saying that life is about the journey. She then asked me if I loved her. I finally confessed that I did. Before I knew it, we were returning to the hotel, reveling in our love."

Jo nodded. Now she saw his earlier comment about sharing a room with Abigail while they weren't married.

"After the war ended, we returned to Southwark. One night, after Abe had interrupted us during a moment of passion…"

Jo started to laugh. Henry narrowed his eyes at her, prompting her to wave a hand. "I'm sorry. I'm remembering when he had interrupted _us_ —" she waved a finger between them "–recently."

Henry rapidly joined her laughter, his boisterous one pleasantly surprising her. "He seemingly has had a bad habit of interrupting Abigail's and my intimate moments since he's been in diapers." He held up a finger. "To be fair, I have interrupted my fair share of his as well whenever I find myself the unfortunate victim of an accident during one of his dates."

He soon sobered. "As Abigail rose to tend to him, I learned that her ex-boyfriend Johnny Haywood had abused her. I tracked him to a local bar and warned him not to touch her again. We started fighting outside, and he stabbed me in the stomach. Abigail, figuring out my plan, arrived in time for me to collapse into her arms." He lowered his eyes. "She watched me die and vanish. After I emerged from the Thames, I returned to our house to say goodbye to Abe. She found me in Abe's nursery and embraced me. She then escorted me into the living room, where I had told her the truth."

An unknown pain and a fondness struggled for control in his expression. Jo broke her gaze. If he wanted to stop now, she understood.

He gazed back at her. "We moved to New York shortly after one of the men watching the fight encountered us and asked me how I could still be alive. After Abigail and Abe went through Ellis Island, where I helped them obtain American citizenship, we headed for Brooklyn. For the next ten years, we led a relatively normal life, punctuated by a move to and another one within Manhattan prompted by my paranoia."

He began to clear his throat. He placed the photo on the desk. "I need some water. Do you want anything to drink?"

Jo reviewed her morning and realized that she had forgotten about her breakfast…and her morning coffee. She glanced around the room. There wasn't a single coffee pot in sight. "I'll be fine."

He ducked back into the bathroom and, a moment later, emerged with a cup of water. He positioned it on the end table and joined her on the bed again.

He studied her for a moment. "As the days and years passed, I gradually found myself wanting us to spend the rest of her life together. One night, Abigail talked me into attending the opening of Gloria Carlyle's gallery in the National Museum. We weren't on the list—."

 _Gloria Carlyle? I knew that he had somehow… Wait. What did he just say?_

"You crashed Gloria Carlyle's party?" She gaped at him. It took Lucas a while to convince him to join him, Mike, and her at McSorley's. But party crashing…?

Henry pointed at himself. "In my defense, I protested the idea once we were inside."

That was more like him.

"Abigail walked up to me, told me that I couldn't plan everything, and led me into the gallery." He smiled. "We met Gloria as we admired the artwork. She noticed that we were in love but unmarried. Gloria reminded me that Abigail didn't have eternity for me to let her know how I felt. When the party wound down, Abigail and I were dancing, and I decided that it was time to share my feelings for her. I dropped to one knee and proposed to her. She very quickly said yes."

Jo's eyes moistened with tears. How could she not see the connection to Abigail while she had tried to talk him into entering the museum? Her and Sean's favorite Chinese restaurant was one thing, but _**this**_ …? She could kick herself. The pain of remembering that good moment was in his eyes the entire time they were working the case.

He sighed happily. "It was Abigail who had noticed Fernando Costa's painting among the Degas and Monets. I remembered it as our investigation into Gloria's death progressed."

Jo smiled at the idea of the other woman being happy to assist them. "How did Abe take the news about your marriage? I mean, he was young at the time, but he must have suspected something wasn't proper with your relationship."

"He asked us why we didn't do it sooner."

She chuckled. Abe had sounded like he was ten going on fifty.

Henry grinned at her. "We were officially married the next year, and Abigail and I went on our honeymoon."

Jo nodded. "The _Orient Express_."

His eyes widened in pleasant surprise at her memory. "Anyway, we had left Abe with his grandparents on their farm in Oxfordshire. As we passed through Romania, Abigail and I finally got a moment to ourselves…or so we thought. Armen Aronov's guards had learned that we were in the medical community and had ordered us to operate on Armen as he was suffering from appendicitis. Seeing that he reminded us of Abe, we quickly started the surgery."

Her own eyes grew wide at Henry's connection to yet another victim, and she suppressed a laugh at the irony of Lucas having no clue that he had criticized Henry's surgical skills. "That's how you knew that the surgeon had experienced a bump while cutting into him."

He gazed into her eyes, tempting her to get lost in them. "After the surgery, Armen's father brought dinner to our car as his way of thanking us. He later told me that he was sending his son out of the country, and he would face whatever fate awaited him upon his return to Urkesh. The next year, the revolution happened…."

He broke his gaze, and his face fell. Fortunately, for her, she already knew that he was remembering his shock to learn that he had lost another person—this time, an acquaintance—in his life.

Looking for a distraction, she remembered the smile on his face when he had mentioned it. "How was the rest of the honeymoon?"

He returned the same smile that she had seen in the Urkesh consulate. It went that well.

His face then fell, and he rolled his tongue in his mouth. "Do you remember when I told you that fate had other plans for Abigail and me when it came to children?"

"Yeah." She drawled out the word.

He sighed. "We decided to add to our family then. During the trip, Abigail became pregnant, and…" He licked his lower lip as he directed his gaze to the blanket. "She, um, she miscarried a couple of days after we had learned about her condition." Tears welled in his eyes, and she could see him willing himself to not cry.

Jo gasped. "I am so sorry."

He looked back up at her. "It was very painful for Abigail, and we decided to never try again." He offered a slight smile. "Fortunately, for us, Abe was enough."

His gaze veered off a point past her. "For a while, our lives together were happy. Our only true point of contention was when I had decided to leave the medical field." He redirected his attention to her. "On October 8, 1956, I had promised Abe that we would go to a World Series game after school. Abigail and I had to tend to an emergency at the hospital, and I couldn't leave until the fifth inning had started. When I arrived at our car, I noticed a man shooting another man. I went to help the injured man, and I was also shot. When I heard the police nearby, I left my patient and hid myself until my death. Abigail had always contended that I had protected both my family and myself. I, however, felt that, as long as I chose self-preservation over my patients, I was no longer fit to be a doctor. The next day, I quit my job at the hospital and found my job as a life insurance salesman."

Jo cocked her head. She had never thought of his self-preservation instinct working like that.

He started to choke back tears. "About thirty years later, things began to change between us. She was aging, and she was becoming more self-conscious about our apparent age difference. We started to go out less and less." His eyes started to dart back and forth. "One night in 1982, she was mistaken for my mother while we were out for our anniversary, and she became so upset that we returned home early." He sniffled. "We never went out again."

He headed back to the desk and got another drink of water, his eyes trained on the photo. Jo's heart broke within her. Abigail must have left him and moved to Tarrytown shortly afterward.

Jo's eyes darted around the room as Lucas' observation echoed in her mind. Who was with Abigail when she died, and why did she kill herself while the person was trying to save her life? It almost sounded like she was afraid of her companion.

Jo looked back at Henry. She could safely rule him out as a suspect. He wouldn't have been obsessed with trying to find his wife recently if he had known anything about it.

Wanting to take his mind off the unpleasant memory, Jo looked around the room. Her eyes landed back on the photo. "How did Abe find out that you're immortal?"

Henry turned to her and smiled. "A heavy suitcase." His eyes grew distant again as he settled next to her. "I was out of clean laundry, and I needed another shirt. Remembering that I had one in my suitcase, I reached into my and Abigail's closet to get it off the top shelf. As I maneuvered the suitcase closer to the edge, I lost my grip on it, and I was unable to dodge it in time. From what I had gathered later, Abe walked into the room shortly afterward and watched me die. Terrified, he ran to the kitchen and told Abigail what had happened. She had no choice but to take him to the river with her and to explain the basics to him. He warily eyed me come out of hiding among the trees near Catherine Slip. He…"

His voice fell to almost a whisper. "He became quite guarded around me for a few days. I, um, I thought that he didn't want anything to do with me ever again." He looked back up at her. "Eventually, while we were eating dinner, he summoned the courage to ask me what happened, and I was able to tell him the full story…or as much as you can tell a child without upsetting them even more."

"How old was he?"

"Eight." Henry's face fell, and he sniffled as he fought back tears. His gaze dropped to the floor as he folded his hands on his lap. "Just like Nathan Sinclair."

Jo furrowed her eyebrows. "Who?"

A tear escaped its wall. "The victim that I had to tend to when you were at the shop." Henry wiped his eyes. "Lucas has probably told you what had happened at the scene."

She nodded as her eyes drifted to the ground. It was terrible to lose anyone at those ages.

A moment later, she stared back at him. He wasn't fatigued during the autopsies like he had told Lucas. He was being reminded of Abe's mortality.

Tears moistened her eyes at the thought of the Morgan men's future. "No parent should have to lose their child, and, if you could exchange lives with him, you would."

At her words, Henry faced her, his eyes widen in surprise. His eyes roamed her face, almost as if he was trying to decide what to think. After a few moments of silence, he finally nodded. "I don't want to watch Abe die, but…" His voice cracked. "I also don't wish for him to die alone like Abigail had." He huffed. "I don't know what to do. If I go back…."

She reached over and gently rubbed his back. "You don't have to decide now. Not today."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Every so often, she sneaked a peek at her partner. At first, it looked like he was growing calmer. Then, his eyes drifted to the desk and locked onto the picture.

He finally turned to her, his eyebrows knitted together and his lower lip starting to quiver. "Abigail's really gone, isn't she?"

Jo's heart broke at the same question that she had asked Mike and Karen nearly two years ago after Sean's funeral. His eyes pleaded for confirmation of the truth, that he would never see his beloved wife again.

She swallowed. He had waited thirty years to feel the final rush of denial as he identified her body. Thirty years to decide what to do with her remains. Thirty years to say goodbye to her. Thirty years to finally feel her gaping absence in his life.

Her pain for him overwhelming her, Jo simply nodded as she fought back tears. Those in his own eyes threatened to spill over onto his cheeks. A few seconds later, he leaned over and sobbed into her shoulder. As he convulsed from his grief, she wrapped her arm around his shoulders and held him just as he had when they had sat on her doorsteps.

Jo pushed the nagging thoughts that he wasn't telling her the full story about Abigail's fate aside. She would find out when he was ready. Right now, he needed her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note** : I'm sorry that this is late! I spent nearly three and a half weeks "arguing" with Henry and Jo about the inclusion of this chapter in the story. I finally gave in and decided to write it. I hope you will enjoy it.

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

Whoever had said that men in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries didn't cry had never met Henry Morgan.

Jo's arm grew heavy as his sobs slowed to a near stop. She had no idea how much time had passed since he had first leaned his head on her shoulder. Yet, she wouldn't have it any other way. He had done the same thing for her once before, and that simple gesture had helped to ease the pain of losing Sean…even if it were only for a few hours.

Henry finally eased himself off her shoulder, leaving behind a cold, wet spot. She pulled her lips together at the sight of her partner's puffy, red eyes. It wasn't easy to see him like this. Out of the two of them, he had always been the strong one. Every time that he had been upset, he had always managed to wait until he could calmly share his feelings with her. The only time that she had ever seen him remotely like this, he had hidden himself away from everyone until he had been ready to return to work.

The sight of Abigail's bones lying on Henry's autopsy table laid over the memory of Sean's casket. Fighting back the tears coming to her eyes, Jo drew a deep breath. She couldn't begin to think about her own grief now. If she spent even one second on it, she would lose it herself.

She continued rubbing Henry's back. How many times had he pushed back his grief over the centuries? How many times had he been forced to hide his pain under a mask of aloofness just to keep going? She always felt like she was drowning every time that she had thought about Sean's death. She could only imagine what Henry had to feel every time that he thought about one of his friend's or loved one's deaths.

She fought back another set of tears. Maybe that was why he wanted to die. He missed everyone so much that he was willing to do anything to see them again.

He sniffled and wiped his glistening eyes with the palm of his hand. "I, um…" His usually even voice wavered. He softly chuckled. "I don't know what came over me."

Jo made several more passes over his back. "Don't mention it. You needed it."

He sat quietly for a few moments, staring down at the blanket between them. Finally, he looked back at her.

"What time is it?" He shifted his weight and placed his hands on the bed.

"Let me check."

She leaned against him as she reached into her pocket. Once she pulled out her phone, she turned back to him. His eyebrows furrowed.

She pointed the phone at his face. "Don't say anything. This is my version of a pocket watch."

She recognized what she had said once his mouth dropped open. She had never thought of the clock on her phone that way before.

She tapped the screen, and her eyes widened at the sight. Her stomach rumbled for the first time since she had stepped foot in the room. She had completely forgotten about that.

"It's 10:30."

His stomach grumbled at the same time that hers did. She released him and headed for the desk. As she opened the drawers, she sensed his eyes on her.

"What are you doing?"

She spied the menu for room service and tugged it out of its hiding spot. "Let me get you something to eat.

"I'm not really hungry."

"Come on, you need something. You've said that starvation is one of the worst ways to go."

Her words registered the second that they eased out of her mouth. Her hand started shaking, and she dropped the menu back into the drawer.

Her eyes moistened. She didn't want him to find a way out of his immortality. She wouldn't know what she would do if she were to lose both Sean and Henry.

She turned around and brushed her hair back. Then again, she didn't want to see him die now either. She had barely survived his fainting incident. She didn't think that she could handle one of his deaths if it were to happen in front of her.

His eyes glistening again, and his gaze focused on something past her. She sensed another wave of grief threatening to wash over him. She closed the distance between them and squatted in front of him.

She took both of his hands into her and squeezed them. When he noticed her presence, she locked eyes with him. "You need to keep up your strength."

He opened his mouth to protest, and she squeezed his hands again.

"If you don't do it for yourself, do it for me." She pushed back her tears and her fears. "I don't want you to find yourself in the river because you didn't want to eat."

He bowed his head. A few moments later, his eyes met hers again. He pulled his lips together and nodded.

"Good."

She held his hands for a few more moments before heading back to the desk. As she lifted the menu out of the open drawer, she hoped that a light brunch would make him feel just a little bit better.

Better yet, hopefully the meal would distract him long enough to let him catch a desperately needed breath. Her own experience told her that he was going to need it as the waves of grief continued through the day.

* * *

"Where did you bury her?"

Jo's question sliced through Henry's thoughts and let itself into his awareness. He took his eyes off the crevice between the sofa's cushions and lifted his head toward her.

He pulled his lips together. "Abe and I, um, had her bones cremated, and we, um, we…"

Another wave of grief and sadness threatened to wash over him and submerge him under it. He sniffled and wiped his itchy eyes. Once they regained their strength, he looked at their empty plates beside the door to try to recover his self-control.

He gulped the available air in the room and hoped that he could keep his head above his pain. "We, um, we scattered her ashes in the East River, off one of the piers in Gantry Park."

He could see it once again….

 _ **Gantry Park, New York, April 26, 2015**_

" _Pops?"_

 _The whispered name beckoned unto Henry. He refused to take his eyes off the river flowing past him in the distance. He couldn't bear to look at Abe or to peek at the urn situated between them to see if Abigail's ashes had survived the trip. One look would either propel him toward the street to find Adam or send him into another almost unbearable depression._

" _Pops?"_

 _The sudden creak coming from the other seat followed the jingle of Abe's car keys. A moment later, Henry could hear Abe's hands clasp the urn that they—or, more accurately, Abe—had selected to carry Abigail to her final resting place._

" _Henry!"_

 _Abe's stern, raised tone forced Henry to look at his son. Their eyes met, and a sense of regret tried to fight its way through his rage._

" _You know Abigail would be disappointed if you weren't there for her funeral."_

 _As his wife's name left his son's lips, it stabbed Henry in the heart and released a wave of grief over his anger. How many times had Abe needed to deny his true relationship to the woman who had raised him? How many times…?_

" _Who is Abe's mother to you?"_

 _Henry swallowed. Why had he felt so torn between his need to keep his immortality from Jo and his desire to answer her question? His answer—the truth—was already inching toward his mouth when she had received the call from Hanson. Another moment, and he would have been tempted to reveal that treasured part of his past to her…as unbelievable as his and Abigail's love story had sounded to others._

 _Looking away to regain control over his emotions, Henry's eyes landed on the gray urn with the simple band around it. Both Lucas' and Adam's words echoed in Henry's mind. It didn't matter that Adam had tried to save her life. He still had played a role in taking it from her and from the people who loved her._

 _Henry turned back to his son. His rage sparked again, and the vessel fanned its flames. The sooner that they could get this over with, the sooner…._

 _ **Hammersmith, London, May 5, 2015**_

Henry's thought at that moment snapped him out of his memory. He peered around the room and drew in a sharp breath in an effort to calm himself. He and his son shared a pain so deep that no one and nothing could ever overcome it. He should have been there for his son, just as Abe had always been there for him.

"Henry?"

Jo's worried voice formed a wall against the cresting grief. He turned toward her. Tears glistened in her eyes. She took his hand into hers, and the warmth from them sent a small wave of comfort through his body.

Unable to counter the rest of the more pain-filled wave, he huffed. "I was so busy thinking about how Abigail had died that I had barely heard Abe's eulogy."

Jo's eyes searched his. "I obviously have never met her, but I think that she would have understood. She knew how fixated you can get on an idea at times."

He glanced down at their hands. He wasn't sure if his wife would have comprehended why he had ignored their son in his time of need.

Jo's squeeze brought Henry back to himself. She smiled. "From everything that you and Abe had said about her, I believe that I have some idea of what his words were."

Every memory that he had mentioned to Jo flowed back. It was no wonder that Jo had felt as though she had personally known Abigail. Although he knew that she still lived in his and Abe's memories, he could almost feel his wife's presence in the hotel room with them.

Feeling the need to say something, he gathered his courage. He swallowed back his emotions before they overwhelmed his ability to speak.

"It is rare to find angels on Earth, yet one existed in Abigail. Her tender heart and gentle spirit had enabled her to love others fully. Even in her dying breath, she had always chosen to love and to protect over her own self interests. If there is a heaven, her virtue and selflessness makes her worthy of it."

Tears misted his vision as his life with her flowed before him. "She had once said that life is about the journey. In spite of the perils that she would face, she chose to take her journey with two lost souls, and she created a family from them. She had guided both Abraham and me through our time together, and she will be eternally missed as we continue our journeys without her."

A sniffle interrupted his memory of Abigail's funeral. He turned toward it. Jo wiped her eyes and sniffled again.

Henry's eyes searched Jo's. Where did she draw her strength from? She had always been the strong one in their relationship. She had always encouraged him to talk about his problems and to share what was on his mind. She had been the one to define their relationship as both a partnership and a friendship. She had always believed in him when no one else, other than Abe, would. He had always desired to take the coward's way out, to hide everything from the rest of the world and especially from her. Yet, she used her strength to get him to open up slowly to her.

Henry's eyes widened. She was now volunteering to comfort him because of both it and her pain from losing Sean.

"When we return to New York, do you want me to go to the pier with you so you can visit her?"

The words froze Henry's blood. His heart pounded to make it move freely again. He couldn't believe that she wanted him to make a decision so soon. Especially not after she had told him that he wouldn't need to do so today.

"Jo." He licked his bottom lip. "I—."

His throat seized up before he could tell her how he didn't want to face whatever would happen after his return. It was almost as if his heart couldn't bear the thought of hurting her by a decision to stay.

His roaming gaze landed on the desk. The glint of his pocket watch caught his eyes. He sucked in some air. He really wanted to return to New York with Jo. An enormous part of him, however, felt that he needed more time—perhaps years—to process everything and to find the courage to return to the life that he had known.

Jo looked away from him for a moment. "You know, forget I asked."

He flipped his hand inside hers and squeezed it. "You have every right to ask." He took a deep breath and gave her a small smile to let her know that he didn't—couldn't—hold it against her.

He took another look at their plates. Room service would be returning to their room in a few minutes to pick them up. He freed himself from her hand and gently rose from his seat.

"What are you doing?"

He looked back at her. "Keeping us from creating any trouble with the room service staff."

Before he could reach the door, his eyes fell on the photo on the desk. He braced himself for another strong wave of grief to overwhelm him.

It never came.

He shook his head and headed for their plates. He had always felt wave after wave of sadness to wash over him every time that he had felt the absences of his loved ones and friends, each wave plunging him deeper into a depression. Yet, for the first time since Abigail's death—perhaps the first time ever—they were not coming as frequently as they had.

He set the plates outside and looked back at Jo. How was that possible? How was she conveying her strength to him?

He rejoined Jo on the sofa before the grief could have the opportunity to overwhelm him again. He hoped that the few moments of peace was a harbinger of things to come.

* * *

"Henry?"

The eerie silence of her partner filled the air. Hoping that something hadn't happened to him, Jo straightened up and pulled herself slightly away from him. At that moment, his body slumped against hers, covering her side like a warm blanket.

The slow rise and fall of his chest and his closed eyes calmed her nerves. She pushed the thought of letting him sleep in her arms out of her mind. They were friends. There was no way that they could stay like that. Come morning, Henry might notice what had happened, and it might be the very thing that would make him uncomfortable around her. And she didn't want him to ever feel uncomfortable when they were together.

She nudged him with her free hand. "Henry?"

"Hmm…"

Although his eyes remained closed, she could tell that he was waking up a little. She swallowed. She didn't want to wake him entirely. This might be the first time in days, maybe even weeks, that he was able to finally have some peace.

"Come on, let's get you to bed."

She removed herself from him, headed over the bed, and folded the covers down. Back at the sofa, she sat back down and wrapped the arm closest to her around her neck. As they stood, she slid her arm around his waist and hooked her fingers into a belt loop. She eased him to the bed, each step gingerly taken so that he wouldn't fall.

Once he sat down on the bed, she laid him down and removed his shoes from his feet. After setting them aside, she found the edge of the bedding and covered him with them.

She gaped as he flipped onto his side and faced her. How could she have this power over him? He trusted her so completely. She could do anything to him right now, and he would readily go along with it.

She blinked and shook her head. That only applied to when he was asleep or when he had let down his guard. He was still keeping something from her, and she wanted him to fully open up to her about it. It could provide her with the key to understanding why he had run.

And why he had looked so hesitant when she had mentioned New York.

Henry's silence pulled her out of her thoughts. She snuck another peek at him, and her heart sank. During the first night after Sean's funeral, everything had kept her awake. When she had finally drifted off, she had woken up to the quiet house and had burst out into tears. She didn't want Henry to experience the same thing.

She bit her lower lip. Karen had offered to spend that difficult night with her. Fearing that Karen and Mike's relationship would push her over the edge, Jo had immediately refused. After seeing how her presence had comforted Henry, Jo found herself wondering if she should have taken Karen up on her offer. If she had, maybe she wouldn't have tried to find comfort in a bottle or with men.

Knowing what she needed to do, Jo stepped over to the desk and slipped one of Henry's key cards into her pocket. She eased into her room, keeping one ear on his room in case he woke up.

The sound of rain hitting the window pulled her away from her mission. She walked over and drew the curtain back. As she stared out at the city of Henry's birth, she swallowed. Maybe it would help him more if he stayed in London. Maybe the distance would keep him from being reminded of how Abigail had died.

Henry's words about his wife echoed in Jo's mind. She pushed the curtain closed. Who was she kidding? The city was filled with memories of Abigail's life here too, and they could be as painful as the ones in New York. Henry's best bet was to return to New York and to be surrounded by the people who knew what he was going through and to receive comfort from them.

The silence between the two rooms reminded Jo of her task. She quickly headed for the bed and gathered her covers and a pillow. As she walked to the door, she hoped that Henry would continue to find comfort in her presence. Even when he was asleep.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** ***Holds out a virtual box of tissues*** If you need these, take some.

I tried my best to match the screencaps of Abigail's funeral in "The Last Death of Henry Morgan" to a real-life location in New York. The closest that I could get to it was Gantry Plaza State Park on Long Island. They have four piers there, and one looks like the cast and crew could have used it for that scene.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note** : Sorry this is a bit delayed in being posted. I had a family emergency to tend to. Everything is okay now.

I hope that you will enjoy it.

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

Henry wiped his face and stepped out of the bathroom, feeling lighter than he had in a few days. He rubbed the back of his neck. He didn't even remember what time that he had finally drifted off to sleep. Yet, the dreamless night appeared to have provided temporary refuge from his thoughts.

His eyes traveled to the sofa and found Jo. The sliver of the morning sun streaming under the closed curtains bathed her in light, and a serene expression graced her exquisite, seraphic face. One arm cradled a pillow while the other tucked itself under it. The blanket from apparently her bed draped gently over most of her body as she slumbered.

Not wishing to disturb her, he eased toward the sofa. As he had believed that his knowledge of Abigail's fate and her letter to him had healed his pain, he had not expected to lose all control of his emotions. When he had recounted their life together for Jo, however, the grief that had built up over the years gradually spilled over until it finally overflowed.

The sight of the woman before him took his breath away. Jo didn't have to remain with him throughout the day. Instead, she had stayed by his side. The only times that she had left him were when she had needed to tend to personal needs and, judging from her presence in his room, when she had decided that she couldn't sleep until she knew that he had gotten some rest.

Had his grief swelled up around Abe, he would have restrained himself to remain strong for his son. If he had been alone, he would have resorted to desperate measures to find relief. Yet, Jo had given him the liberty to express his heartache without feeling weak, and she had provided him a solace that lifted his sorrow.

Her compassion made him wish that he had invited her to Abigail's funeral….

That moment flooded back, and he quickly pushed the thought aside. He couldn't think of it now. He didn't wish to remember what had happened afterward. If he did, his anger toward Adam and his fear for Jo's safety would return.

He glanced down at her purple socks. A corner of his mouth tugged up. He had seen her in that color many times before, but he hadn't recognized that it was her favorite. He needed to keep that in mind the next time that….

She blinked her eyes open and pushed her torso up off the seat, letting the blanket fall to her lap. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better." His years of experience slightly tempered his relief, and he pulled his lips together to prevent it from transforming into another bout of sorrow. "Knowing that the pain will never go away…"

"Hey," Jo leaned forward as though she wanted to stand. "The good memories will hurt, but all that means is that you still love her." She gave him a small smile. "And let me be the first to say that I'm sorry for your and Abe's loss."

Tears begotten in amazement sprung in his eyes. How was it possible that she could always speak to his heart in a way that belied her age?

He nodded to reign in his emotions. "Thank you."

She ran her hand through her hair. His eyes traced every subtle movement that her fingers made. Although he felt that he was invading her privacy, he couldn't take his eyes off her. Then again, a part of him didn't want to.

"I hope that you didn't mind me spending the night. I took one of your keys to let myself in."

Her words pulled him back to his senses. "I don't mind at all. I seem to remember doing something similar for you." Even though carrying her back to the shop to let her sleep off her hangover and arriving on her doorstep weren't the same, it was still comforting to know that she hadn't dealt with her memories of losing Sean alone. "It might be best if you kept it if anything were to happen during our stay here."

With tears glistening in her eyes, she pulled her lips together and nodded. "I haven't thought of that."

Her dulled tone plunged into his heart. The weight of his secret had barely been placed on her shoulders, and she was already buckling under it. What would happen if he returned to New York with her? Alternately, would she collapse under the burden if he were to tell her more about his life while she was here?

He looked over his shoulder at Abigail's image in the photograph on the desk and pulled his lips together. He had been unable to protect his wife from the consequences of Adam's knowledge of him. Perhaps, it was best to send Jo back without him. That way, he would no longer be a burden to her, and she could resume a normal life. Adam would not pose a threat to her as the air embolism would keep him locked in for the rest of his life.

" _I can die, and I have done so on numerous occasions…."_

Fear paralyzed Henry and stole his air. Who was he fooling? No one, not even he, could predict when Adam would die of an infection, prolonged inactivity, or a medical error. Once he awakened, Adam _would_ come after Jo, and he _would_ kill her and whoever else would stand between the two immortals—including, although Adam had promised to never harm him, Abe.

Henry's eyes landed on his ticket. Returning with Jo would provide them with some small degree of protection. At least Adam would know where to find him without endangering the city.

Still, he couldn't tell Jo about the other immortal. If she knew about everything that had happened recently, she would….

"Are you okay?"

Henry's head snapped toward Jo's voice. His gaze met hers, which pleaded for him to open up to her.

He bowed his head before meeting her eyes again. "I was just lost in thought."

She ran her hand over her hair again. "I need coffee." Her smiling eyes searched his. "Do you know of any good breakfast places around here, or am I going to have to try to talk you into going to a fast food restaurant for it?"

He chuckled. "Many privately owned restaurants, including a few which have been operating since the middle of the 19th century, are open now, and I know that Starbucks has a few franchises in the city."

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Ew. I can't stand Starbucks' coffee. It tastes nasty."

His heart danced at her crinkled nose, broadening his grin. "How about some breakfast?"

She pushed herself off the sofa. "Sounds good." She moved toward the desk to claim their keys. "I'll meet you in a few?"

"That sounds good to me."

As he watched her leave, he furrowed his eyebrows. She didn't show any signs of distress from the knowledge of his past like he had originally believed. Instead, she had appeared to be saddened by something else when he had mentioned his tendency to die from unexpected circumstances.

He quickly pushed the thought aside. Whatever it was, she would tell him in time. Now, he must get ready for breakfast, and he was enjoying the idea of spending it with her.

* * *

"Who ordered the omelets?"

The authoritative, feminine voice penetrated Henry's thoughts as he finished his recounting of Abigail's purchase of his watch in a New York antiques shop years ago. Wondering who had dared to interrupt him, he spun around to the voice. He immediately noticed the other woman and the pair of trays in her hands.

He unhesitatingly pointed to Jo. "It's hers." He faced Jo once again, and the left side of his mouth tugged upward at the sight of her hand raised.

Jo's eyes landed on his meal as their server laid his plate onto the table. "A tomato for breakfast?"

He flipped his napkin open and laid it in his lap. "It's been a part of my breakfast since my early days as a doctor." He exchanged a knowing look with her to tell her that his first taste of it was from a long time ago.

He peered at her plate. "Hash browns?"

She broke off a piece of her omelet and lifted it with her fork. "When I was a kid, I would have loved eating French fries for breakfast. But now, I can't stomach the idea. Your description of bubble and squeak sounded disgusting, and I wasn't in the mood for sausage or bacon this morning."

He grinned as he took a bite of his bacon. They could agree on that much.

"I think that this is our first actual breakfast together."

He wrinkled his forehead, and his eyes darted just after he swallowed his bite. It _was_ the first time that they had partaken a morning meal together. When he had brought her to the shop to sleep off her drunken state, she had stopped at a nearby coffee shop while driving them to work and had bought a pastry and a cup of coffee for herself. He had refused any other food since he had had a couple of pieces of toast and a cup of coffee before Abe had decided to wake her up.

"I believe it is."

He unfolded the newspaper that he had brought with him and flipped it open. As he started to catch up on the current topics of public discussion, he blocked out the clashing of silverware, the quiet conversations, and the tantalizing aromas of the other patrons' meals. Although he was quite awake, he still was not ready to face the rest of society just yet. Once he had read at least the headlines and business sections, he would be ready to rejoin everyone else.

"This is a bit like Ward and June Cleaver."

He peered over the top of the page, and his eyes met Jo's. He recalled those names from his colleagues' weekly spirited discussions about a lad oddly named Beaver while taking a break in the insurance office where he had worked years ago, but he saw no connection to the present. "A bit like what?"

She pointed her fork toward him. "You reading the newspaper at the breakfast table. It seems like something men used to do years ago."

He began to close the paper and surveyed the room. Although the rest of their fellow patrons were engrossed in their companions, meals, and cell phones, the activity could draw unwanted attention to him. Besides, they would consider it the markings of an ill-bred man if someone were to catch him.

A hand sailed over the edge and pulled it down until it revealed Jo's face. "You don't have to change your morning routine because of me." Her enchanting smile promised her enjoyment of it. "You mind handing me the sports section? I want to see if they even reported the score of the Yankees game yesterday."

He chuckled. She sounded exactly like Abe. "You're not using your cellphone to get that information?" He fished the section out and handed it to her.

"It's too expensive to read it online. I'll get charged for roaming." She snatched it out of his hand. "Thanks."

He pulled his lips together as he reopened the headlines. If he were to return to New York with her, he wasn't sure if he could abide on her side of the generation gap. It had been relatively straightforward with Abigail; with the exception of the advent of radio, movies, and television, entertainment and technology had remained fairly unchanged from the Victorian era or even the 1920s. After she had disappeared, he had chosen to return to the comfort of long-cultivated interests rather than to learn more about others' preferences. Over the past nine months, though, he had felt as though he was taking baby steps in the world of bewildering choices in communication, music and entertainment where everyone else lived. Had he not had Abe and Jo to guide him through some of its perplexity, he would have been absolutely lost during some of the cases.

He frowned. At the same time, going back to New York meant that, one day, he would need to reveal his condition to the rest of the team. He had no idea how the two more skeptical members of the NYPD would take it. Nor was he looking forward to disclosing it to the one person who might become excited by the news and who possibly would reveal it inadvertently. He preferred to not spend the rest of his days in a white-padded room in Bellevue, but a part of him also didn't want to lose the friendships that he was beginning to cultivate.

"Nuts! How could they blow their lead like that? Toronto's going to sweep the series if they keep playing the way they are now."

He smiled as he turned the page to continue another article that had attracted his attention. It was comforting to know that, no matter what era he was in, some things, like one's reaction to a favorite team's loss, never changed.

A few moments of silence passed. Curious, he closed the section, folded it up, and started to place it with the rest of the paper. To his surprise, Jo had set her piece down on it at the same time.

"Does Abe still read the comics?" She speared a bite of her omelet and brought it to her mouth.

He chuckled. "After finishing the obituaries and the sports pages if we're not reading the _New York Times_. He says that it keeps him feeling young at heart."

"The way that he acts sometimes, he keeps me on my toes, and he's old enough to be my father." Her eyes fell to her plate. "When he reads the obits, is he looking for someone he knows?"

Henry shook his head and cut into his tomato. "He's looking for future estate sales so he could procure more antiques for the shop." His chuckle grew to a laugh. " _He_ thinks that _I'm_ a pack rat with my possessions." He pointed his fork to himself. "I've recently learned that he has an entire warehouse filled with antiques, most of it from the estate sales that he goes to. At the rate that we sell things at the shop, I'm surprised that he hasn't bankrupted it by now."

Jo raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. "I seem to remember him running by me as he pursued a customer that _you_ had chased away."

It was a fair point, but he wasn't going to let her know that. "You wouldn't believe the number of people who would desecrate antiques to match the aesthetics of their decor. They shouldn't be allowed to walk anywhere near an antiques shop, let alone step inside one."

"You don't want to let your stuff go."

He gazed back into her eyes. He should tell her the story behind his doctor's bag one day. "I can't. There's too much history in them."

As he took another bite of his meal, he peered out the window. He longed to leave his room for the day, but the dark clouds which were building over the city indicated that the weather might not cooperate with any outdoor plans. Perhaps he could talk Jo into going to a museum with him. At least it would be indoors.

A man dressed in a black leather coat, gloves, and a pageboy cap passed by the window. Henry's blood ran cold, freezing his movements. If he didn't know any better, he would say that the stranger was Adam.

"What's wrong?"

His heart racing to thaw him out, he turned back to Jo. "Nothing. I thought that I had seen someone I knew. I guess that I was wrong."

His stomach churned, and his meal suddenly became unappealing. He hated to continue to lie to Jo. Yet, it was the only way to protect her from someone who would seek her life.

They ate in silence for the majority of their meal. Just as he started to finish his toast, the man from outside entered into his field of vision and took a seat at the table behind them. Henry leapt to his feet and jerked his coat off the chair. He shouldn't take any chances. He needed to get Jo out of here… _now_.

"Henry?" Jo swallowed the last bite of her omelet. "What's the matter?"

He kept one eye on the immortal—or his doppelganger. "We need to leave now."

"But I'm not done with my breakfast." Her plate still had a half of a hash brown and a quarter of her eggs on it.

"Just please," he pleaded. "Trust me." He hoped that she would. The last time that he had asked her to do so…

She pointed her fork at him. "Let me finish my coffee."

He begrudgingly let her take the last sip of her beverage. If Adam turned around now and saw her, who knew what could happen next.

She stood up, pushed her chair under the table, and took her coat. "I'm ready."

They paid their bill and left the restaurant, each step of their departure an impatient wait which provoked Henry's annoyance. As they passed the window, Henry peeked into it. His heart almost stopped when he observed the man's wavy auburn hair and more chiseled features. That meant…

He swallowed. He wasn't ready to tell her about Adam, but she was already suspicious of his reaction. How was he going to explain this without lying to her?

* * *

"Okay, Henry." Jo stood in front of the door, crossed her arms, and glared at him, daring him to circumvent her questions and to flee the room. "I understand you going off on your own when you discover a lead in our cases, but you can't keep running out of a room for no particular reason. This time, you've dragged me out of the room as well. What's going on?"

" _I deserve the truth."_

His throat dried out on him, and he futilely swallowed in hopes of restoring it to its original condition. He could no longer escape the consequences of his recent behavior.

His legs wobbled, and he staggered to the desk, turned the chair around, and dropped himself in it. "Do you remember when I killed Clark Walker?"

She trained her gaze on him. "What about him?"

"He wasn't my stalker. The man you know as Dr. Farber is, and I had thought that he was here in London."

She threw her head back and scoffed. "Come, on Henry. You expect me to believe that your shrink has been stalking you? That's—."

Anger at her disbelief welled up in him, energizing him and propelling him to his feet. "You have to trust me! Clark had told me before I killed him that Dr. Farber had informed him that I could make him immortal by killing him. I refused, after which Clark attacked me."

"What? You're choosing to believe a psychopath instead of a psychiatrist? I know that you want to avoid therapy, but this is pretty extreme, even for you."

He was positive that people could hear them, but he didn't care. "Having a degree from Oxford is indeed an accomplishment to be celebrated, but doctors—even psychiatrists—don't hang their bachelor's degrees on the walls of their office. They always display their medical degrees."

The realization slugged him and threw him back into the plastic seat. Why didn't he consider that when he and Adam had come face to face for the first time? Had he let his fear of what constituted as therapy blind him to that minor detail? Would that have made a difference in the outcome of recent events since he would have taken greater care to not reveal much about himself to the other immortal?

He looked back at Jo. Her head bowed toward the ground, and her eyes had grown distant. He hated himself for raising his voice at her. He had always restrained that part of himself around those whom he cared about as he feared that their arguments would have disastrous consequences for everyone involved. Fortunately, Abigail's voice had been a warm fire on a cold winter's day when they infrequently had argued with each other. With Jo, though, he had found himself unwilling to confront her…until now.

She lifted her head, and their eyes met. "You said the man I know." Her low, soft voice covered the simmering anger toward both himself and her. "So, Dr. Farber is an alias?"

He nodded. "He hasn't given me his real name, but he had instructed me to call him Adam."

"When did he tell you that?"

Beads of sweat began to form along Henry's hairline. "Do you remember the phone call that I had received when we had met?"

Her eyes shone with recognition. "You turned away from Lucas and me so we couldn't see your face or hear the rest of your conversation."

He gazed into her eyes to give himself the courage that he needed. "He had informed me that he knew what I was. That was quickly followed by a package containing the _New York Examiner_ 's article about the crash, a sticky note with the words 'Henry Morgan, QED" attached to it, and a picture of Abigail and myself at The Stork Club on March 18, 1955." He still couldn't believe that he had almost slipped about the nature of his condition to Lucas when they had discovered the article. "That, in turn, was followed by a note, written on stationery from the hotel that Abigail and I had stayed at in Milan, expressing his condolences on my accidental death—a box truck hitting me while I picked up the carbuncle which I had found on the 59th Street Bridge—a week later."

Henry kicked himself. He didn't mean to reveal that death to Jo. "For your curiosity's sake, there's no record of my arrest that night because I had called Abe while he was on his date with a woman he had met on eHarmony and asked him to pick me up from the river."

He dared to look at her. Her mouth was shaped like an "O". She then gave him the same look that he had seen when she had discovered him handcuffed to Molly's apparatus. "How many times have you died since we've met, counting the crash?"

"Seven. Four murders, the accident, the crash, and an assisted suicide." He didn't want to lose his courage like he had when she had asked him about the family photo. "Can we get back to the story?"

"How many of your murders are connected to this Adam?"

His breath caught in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to tell her the latest one, but he decided to press on with the rest. "A few weeks later, he had followed Mark Bentley as he went on his killing spree, and Adam had left the burner phone at the first scene to provide us with clues. When I went to The Frenchman's shop to thank her for not pressing charges against Abe, I didn't expect Mark to fatally stab me in the back, nor did I expect Adam to slit my throat to keep you from seeing me die. After that, he killed me by driving the cab off Pier 40 at Christmas."

She didn't appeared phased by his confession about the cab. "Why didn't you tell us this then? It would have been helpful during our investigation. Maybe you wouldn't have had to kill Clark in self-defense."

He wiped his sweaty hands on his lap. "Because Adam is immortal himself."

Jo's eyes widened. "He's…?" She shook her head. "How can you possibly know that?"

"He called me in your hospital room and told me that he was a 2,000-year-old immortal. He later proved it during the insane cab ride that I had taken by killing himself with the antique gun that was found off the pier." He was leaving out the second arrest for indecent exposure within 24 hours of the first for the time being. "Also, a specialized DNA test that Lucas and I had requested had detected antibodies from long-extinct diseases on Julian Glausser's ring."

She bit her lower lip and lowered her gaze. Hopefully, she wasn't considering charging him with interference with a police investigation. If so, he might as well plead guilty to keep it from going to trial.

She caught his eye. "We might not be able to charge him for your murder, but we can charge him for Julian's and for any other crimes that he had committed."

Henry's eyes darted back and forth. He certainly was not expecting that response.

Jo lowered her arms and moved away from the door. "We can catch him. We have his fingerprints from his arrest records. You have his DNA. There should be surveillance footage of him entering and exiting buildings." She gestured toward him. "You're a witness. We can get the times and locations of his calls to you. We can—."

Her plan was enticing, but she was missing one detail. He sighed and closed his eyes. "It's not that simple."

Her eyes and voice danced with excitement. "Yes, it is. Like I told you once before, we build the case against him brick by brick. We can catch him."

Henry rose from his chair and walked toward her. "You don't understand. He does everything in a callous and calculated manner. He researches his targets, and he knows exactly what they want. If they don't cooperate with his requests, he will harm them. His precise slitting of my throat suggests that he has killed many times before, and he _will_ kill again."

"That hasn't stopped us before."

Fear surged through him. He couldn't let Jo face the same decision that Abigail had faced if she pursued this course. He didn't know what he would do if he lost Jo also.

"He kidnapped Abigail." The words rushed out before he could even think. "He had attempted to gain information about my whereabouts from her. She, um, she had picked up on what he could do…" He couldn't bear to utter the rest.

Jo stared at him. "Okay." Her voice fell back to its normal register. "How…?"

His legs threatened to give way under him, and he lowered himself onto the bed. "He was the motorcyclist whom Abigail had treated hours before her death. Abe and I discovered her notes describing a man in his 30s who was suffering from several usually fatal injuries. Abe pointed out the absence of a death certificate for the man, suggesting that he was and is immortal. Adam called me shortly after we found Abigail and told me his version of events which confirms what we had learned."

He closed his eyes as he connected the other immortal's request and his tale. How could he not see Adam's intent at that time? The other immortal had manipulated him before. Why was he surprised that it had happened again?

A pair of hands enclosed around his. He opened his eyes and noticed Jo gazing at him. "We _will_ find a way to bring him to justice, even if it's the last thing I do."

" _No one comes between me and my dagger…."_

" _I deserve the truth."_

He sighed. She deserved to know the full story. Whether she would hate him afterward, he would abide by her decision.

He licked his bottom lip to moisten it, even though his mouth had none. "There's more."

She cocked her head.

His lungs suddenly vanished, and he willed them to return. "While we were investigating Julian's murder, Adam and I had met. He mentioned that he had lost a 2,000-year-old _pugio_ , and he asked me to find it for him."

Jo's eyes darkened as another piece of the puzzle that he had presented her fell into place. Still, her hands remained on his, tightening as though they were handcuffs.

He broke his gaze so he could continue. "As an incentive, he took me aside while we were at The Explorers Club and asked me if the flintlock pistol that Rick's crew and Isaac had found was the same one that had been used in my first death. After I confirmed it, he stole it and sent it to the OCME."

"We can get him for theft and tampering of evidence."

Henry huffed. "It wouldn't stick."

"And why won't it?" Her voice sent a chill through him.

"I cleaned the gun. You will find _my_ prints all over it."

"Henry," her stern voice threatened retribution if he didn't tell her the truth. "You should have turned it in if you knew that the gun was stolen. Why didn't you?"

His gaze dropped to their joined hands. She would feel differently about him if she knew his mindset. Yet, he couldn't escape telling her.

"Remember when I said that I believed in the curse of the _pugio_?"

"Yeah, but you had said that it granted people immortality. What would happen if it were used on an immortal?"

His throat was a desert. "According to Adam, kill him."

Her eyes caught and roamed his. Suddenly, she jerked her hands away, sprung to her feet, and began to pace. She laid one hand on her forehead and muttered under her breath.

After what had felt like hours, she spun toward him. "You were going to _kill_ Adam with the _pugio_?! What _on earth_ possessed _you_ to even think that?!"

Abigail's funeral flashed before his eyes. "I couldn't let him get away with his role in Abigail's death. I couldn't tell you because I was afraid that you wouldn't have believed me when I said that I'm immortal. I couldn't let him kill you if you confronted him. I—." With each excuse for his behavior, he could see himself across from her in the interrogation room again.

He sucked in some air as he glanced away to pull himself out of _that_. Jo was right. Immortal or not, he shouldn't have taken the law into his hands.

She crossed her arms, and her glare dared him to challenge her. "What happened in the tunnel?"

He scoffed. "I'm taking the story back a little further. Abe had discovered my plan and had assumed that the stolen flintlock could be used in the same manner on me. He locked it in the shop's vault." Although he knew that she would deduce it, he instinctively shut his mouth to keep himself from saying why. "After you kicked me out of your car, I started to reconsider my plan. I called Adam to arrange our meeting in the Fort Hamilton Station's abandoned tunnel, and I took the _pugio_ with me. I returned the _pugio_ and started to leave. The first shot alerted me to the fact that he had stolen the flintlock from the shop."

Her eyes grew distant as they always did when she made her deductions. A few moment later, her eyebrows turned up. "And the second shot…?"

"It killed me but proved Adam's theory wrong." Or he was sure that it did. "He left the photo for you to find in case you saw me die and vanish."

Nodding and biting her lower lip to remain calm, she looked at him. "What happened to the needle that I saw you with?"

So, she had seen it; he wasn't sure of that. "I injected air into his neck, and the needle itself disappeared when I died. Adam is currently in Bellevue's neurological wing suffering from locked-in syndrome caused by an air embolism. As it is generally illegal to carry a weapon on the subway, you will find both weapons in the police evidence room in Brooklyn."

For a moment, she considered his words. Seconds later, she resumed pacing, casting a wary eye on him from time to time. Finally, she stopped and locked eyes with him.

"Henry Morgan, do you know what you had put me through?" Her raised voice matched his earlier one. "For two days, I had believed that you were dead. For two days, I had tried to convince myself that I couldn't find your body and blood because I went to the wrong platform. I went to the shop and braced myself for Abe telling me what time your funeral was. When I saw you in the window, I thought that you were a ghost!"

"Jo…" He pleaded for her to see that he was still alive.

She threw her hand up at him. "What if the gun worked? Or better yet, what if your death is delayed, and your luck runs out the next time that you die? You know how much pain losing Abigail and Sean causes us. Do you seriously want to put me—and Abe, Lucas, and Mike, for that matter—through that? Your son has already lost a mother. Do you want to make him an orphan all over again? Do you realize that I would have blamed myself for what had happened in the tunnel for the rest of my life? How could you be so selfish?! How can you even try to take your life away from _us_?"

He stared at her, his words leaving him as her sorrowful voice pierced his heart. He didn't know that his actions would have wounded her this deeply.

She huffed. "And what if both weapons worked? Your last act on Earth would have been a murder. All of the good that you have done would have been erased in that one moment. All because you didn't trust us…not even me."

She studied his face one more time. Anger and sadness vied for dominance. After a moment, she spun around and marched out of the room.

The door slammed shut. Henry stared at it as his thoughts rolled in like the storm clouds near the hotel. Somehow, Jo had picked up on his desire to cure himself of his condition. Somehow, she had deduced his plan to test the flintlock on himself one day. As far as he knew, she could have seen him putting the gun into the credenza when she had arrived to tell him that she had wanted to go to Paris with him, and she was remembering that moments earlier.

The rain splattered on the window, but the usually pleasant rhythm failed to soothe him. The last two events that had passed before his eyes during his latest death were their mutual concerns for each other upon their discovery of Hans Koehler's motive and her worry for him following Adam's call to her hospital bed. With his dying breaths, Henry wished that he had told her the truth about himself then, had regretted the heartache that he was going to put her through for the remainder of her life, and had promised himself that things would be different if he should survive the wound. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to put her through the pain of losing him forever before, but, now, he found himself wanting to shield her from that heartache and to lift that burden off her shoulders.

He sighed. If only there were a way to take away the pain that his immortality had caused him over the centuries. After that, perhaps he could grant her that wish.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** The game was taken from CBS New York's article "New York Yankees' Bullpen Wastes Gem From Chase Whitley".

The characters of Ward, June, and Beaver Cleaver come from the 1950s and 1960s TV show _Leave It to Beaver_. Beaver's real first name is "Theodore", but he couldn't pronounce it properly when he was younger. So, everyone called him "Beaver".

I have to thank ForeverCloisJenry for pointing out Henry's last two memories before his death in "The Last Death of Henry Morgan" are of Jo. She caught them and posted it in a tweet a few months ago.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note** : This chapter was not originally a part of the story. While thinking about the end, I realized that I had another plot hole that needed fixing. I hope that you will enjoy this chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

Was it possible to drown on dry land without ever being exposed to water or illness?

Henry's lungs burned as he searched Jo's words and the memories of the past two weeks for a way to take her pain away from her. His throat tightened with each breath that he attempted to get. Although he had experienced both types of drowning before, it felt as though the third category was entirely possible.

Blinking to clear his vision, he gulped the scarce air in the room. He wiped his hands over his face and rested them against his lips. The more that he had dwelt on everything, the more that he realized the extent of the wound that he had caused her.

He puffed out his cheeks, blew out the air, and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. He had never intended to hurt Jo. He had believed that, in hiding the truth, he could protect her from the consequences of his condition.

He pulled his lips together. That fear hadn't existed when they had first met. When…?

 _Gazing down at Richard Smight, Henry sighed. "There's no time for this."_

" _Yeah, well, unless you're a psychiatrist, we wait for the warrant."_

 _Henry's head snapped up and his eyes searched Jo's. The only psychiatrist whom he could immediately think of was Dr. Farber. Perhaps he would be willing to do them a favor._

" _I think I know of one who might help us."_

His heart raced, and his legs tensed. If he weren't sitting on the bed, he would have collapsed again.

He shook his head and blinked. No, it wasn't possible. He couldn't have…

" _I like what I've found here in New York. Working with Jo…I'd hate to lose that."_

" _What exactly are you afraid of?"_

" _Someone getting hurt…because of me."_

The room began to spin. He grasped the bed and willed himself to remain upright. He gulped in several deep breaths.

He had led Jo straight into Adam's trap.

He blinked back the tears rising in his eyes. There was only one way to remedy that.

Once he returned to his senses, he shoved himself off the bed. He rushed to the wall where he kept his suitcase, set it on the bed, and threw his dirty laundry into it.

He stepped over to the desk, and his eyes landed on his and Abigail's picture. One rogue tear spilled over and flowed down his cheek. He ran his finger over his wife's image. He had lost Abigail to Adam. He couldn't afford to lose Jo to him as well.

He carefully folded the photo and inserted it into his pants pocket. He snatched his coat out of the closet, grabbed his passport and his boarding pass, and tucked them into the coat's inner pocket.

He eyed the remaining key card and sighed. He didn't want to bother Jo for the other one. Perhaps he should just leave his where it was. The janitorial staff would eventually find it and return it to the desk.

He rubbed his lower lip with his tongue. Then again, he didn't want to create problems for the receptionist. If the person asked him where the other key was, he could always say that he had lost it in the hallway. No one would ever suspect the truth when Jo would return all three keys to the front desk when she would check out to return to New York.

After pocketing his key, he sped toward the door. Within a few steps, he arrived at Jo's. His feet directed him to stop in front of it. On the other side, he could hear her mutter to herself as she paced.

"Does he really care for me?" Her voice suddenly rose just loud enough for him to hear it over her heating unit.

His heart ached. He did care about her…cared deeply about her. That was why he was doing this.

His free hand acted on its own accord, pulling itself away from him and running itself over her door.

"Goodbye, Jo".

" _Goodbye, Abraham."_

His voice's echo stirred him back to the present. He blinked back the memory. The last time that he had lingered during a flight, he had set the woman he loved onto a path that had led to her demise. He was _not_ going to make the same mistake twice.

He set out for the elevators. The suitcase weighed down his hand. He tightened his grip on it and quickened his pace. The faster that he left, the better.

" _You left without a call, a note…"_

He swallowed back his tears as a pair of fellow guests passed him in the hallway. Jo might have many lingering questions concerning his whereabouts for the rest of her life. This type of break, however, was more surgical, cleaner…for the both of them. The sooner that they could start their lives anew, the better.

He sighed. He could travel to Asia or Africa and start over there. Once he was settled, he would send word to Abe so he could tell Adam precisely where he was if the psychopathic immortal visited the shop. He would also mail his letter of resignation to the OCME and request that Lucas be reassigned to another medical examiner. Preferably, he would like to see Lucas with anyone but Dr. Washington. The surly medical examiner's attitude would drive Lucas to quit his job should they spend a prolonged length to time together.

" _You left your job, your friends, your_ _son_ _. You left_ _me_ _! Why? Don't you know that you have a life in New York?!"_

One tear rebelled against his will and trickled down his face. He had no choice but to leave everything behind for good this time. If he were to return with her, one of two things would occur. Either he would allow his emotional entanglements to get the better of him, and they would lead Jo to an untimely and painful death. Or, by forcing her to keep his secret, he would persuade her to violate her morals and ethics, and she would be forced to sacrifice everything that she cared about. He would never forgive himself if either of those were to happen.

He wiped the rogue tear and sniffled back the others. If he had his way, no one would suffer because of him. His immortality had always caused issues for whomever knew about it. He was sure that Father Timothy had been severely punished for his role in Henry's escape from Southwark Prison. He had uprooted Abigail and Abe so many times that they never had the opportunity to remain in one place for any longer than a decade. The family bond that he shared with them had become strained the moment that he had resembled Abe's brother, and Abigail had almost broken their bonds of matrimony when she had felt the need to leave him. He had already corrupted Lucas with his example. And Jo? He sensed that sharing his secret would one day bring out the pain of the lies that he had told her, and she would eventually abandon him as well.

* * *

The elevator doors drew near. He readjusted his grip on the suitcase's handle. The sooner that he could leave, the better it would be for all of them.

The doors opened, revealing the lobby. Henry strolled out of them and toward the doors leading to the outside. Within another few minutes, he would be on his way to Heathrow.

As he squared his shoulders and headed for the hotel's entrance, each step became more difficult to take. Knowing that it was for the best, he willed himself to continue walking. Yet, his body rebelled and slowed him to a stop.

He took a look at the dreary scene outside and stared out the doors in disbelief. He couldn't bring himself to leave the building.

Tears welled up in his eyes. Henry looked back at the elevators. If he were honest with himself, a part of him didn't want to leave Jo behind. If he were to walk out the doors, he would never forgive himself for abandoning her the same way that he had forsaken others whom he had cared about in his past.

He sighed. He couldn't return to his room. Yet, he couldn't remain in the lobby either. The hotel staff, and especially the receptionist who had mistaken him and Jo for a couple, would become suspicious.

A third option presented itself, energizing him. He wove his way through the area as he pointed himself toward the door leading to the stairs.

Adam's voice began to return, and Henry shoved it aside. If only he could rid his mind of Adam's voice. The other immortal seemed intent to ruin his life, whether he was physically present or not.

Henry resisted the temptation to close his eyes. He should have never let Adam use Abigail's death to convince him into finding the _pugio_. If he had reported their conversation to Jo, he wouldn't be in this position.

The stairwell door was in sight. He walked over to it and looked around. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice that he was there.

He pushed it open, stepped inside, and eased it close. Perhaps he should have invited Jo to the funeral and allowed his grief to loosen his tongue in a way that he could not permit himself otherwise. Certainly, spending the rest of his life in a white, padded room in Bellevue and knowing that Jo had placed him there because of her unbelief would have been better that the pain that he was feeling now.

The moment that he had first seen Abigail and Abe and the memory of her funeral flashed before him. He sighed. Perhaps he should have ignored Abe's cry. If he had….

" _I'm sorry, Dr. Morgan, but I'm not letting go so easily."_

Abigail's voice rang out in the empty stairwell. He lowered himself onto the stair. Abigail had refused to let him walk away from her when he had had the opportunity to do so.

" _In spite of the perils that she would face, she chose to take her journey_ …

Tears gathered in his eyes. He reached up and wiped them away before they could spill over. She had chosen a life with him because of her love for him.

" _Abe and Lucas had told me that you hadn't showed up for breakfast or work."_

His gaze shifted to his bouncing feet, his memories of the past few days floating past him. Jo had followed him to London because of her worry for him as well. Knowing her, she would follow him to wherever he would settle next if he ran.

His eyes stared ahead at the wall. His memories grew until those ones from the past nine months flowed past him as slowly as the East River did near Catherine Slip. He puffed out his cheeks and blew out the air. He couldn't leave Jo behind. She meant too much to him, and he couldn't imagine his life without her.

He closed his eyes. She was right. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he had a life in New York. One in which Abe waited for his return home from work. One in which Jo had come to mean the world to him. One in which his assisting the NYPD was placing criminals behind bars. And friends. He hadn't had them since…

He thought back to the moment that he had seen Hanson and his friends leaving the precinct for McSorley's. Henry closed his eyes as it overlapped the rising memories of his time with his fellow members of the Diogenes Club. While they had gone to the karaoke bar recently, it had almost felt like he was back in 1812, enjoying a round of drinks and their time together.

" _You're not the same man…"_

Nora's voice echoed so loudly that he swore that everyone could hear it. As her comment repeated itself, it stole the air out of his lungs and threw it down the stairwell.

He sucked in whatever air he could to replace what had been in him. His chest tightened with each breath. He could not think about that. Not now. Not ever again, if he had his way.

A little voice whispered that Jo didn't know that part of the story yet and that he should tell her. He shook his head. He could never tell her about that time. He had barely survived telling Abigail and Abe the absolute minimum. And he had frightened Jo by fainting while fighting to keep the memories of Nora's betrayal from drowning out Jo's words. He could not do that to her. Especially not with the memories of Sean and of his and Adam's confrontation still fresh in her mind.

" _You're lying again."_

He wasn't lying. He would be conveniently leaving out something to protect himself and her.

" _As your friend, I am giving you the chance to explain yourself. Just tell me the truth."_

" _Tell us everything. No more secrets."_

He swallowed. He no longer could keep all of his past a secret from her. He had almost destroyed their friendship and had nearly gotten himself killed when he had done that before. He could not let that happen ever again.

He gulped in some desperately needed air. Still, Jo needed the full truth...even if he could find himself hopelessly and irretrievably lost in that moment. If he were to wander that deep into those memories, Jo could always call Abe, and they possibly could find a way to bring him back to the present.

His eyes darted around the room. Maybe she wouldn't have to make a call. When Molly had handcuffed him to her apparatus, he had almost drowned in that moment. Jo's voice had been the only thing to wrap itself around him and pull him back to the safety of the present.

He looked up the stairwell. Perhaps it was time to return to his room. Perhaps he could find some way to tell her the truth about Nora without becoming trapped in the past.

* * *

The door closed behind Henry. He walked toward the closet and returned his suitcase and coat to their places. He fished out the contents of his coat pocket and set them back on the desk. He drew in a breath as he studied the layout. Maybe he should have never tried to run. It seemed like every time he had, it had always led to trouble.

He looked back at the sofa where Jo had spent the night. He pulled his lips together. She needed her bedding later tonight. If she returned here while she was still angry with him…

Wanting her to feel as comfortable as possible, he headed over to the sofa and folded her covers. He tucked everything under his already tired arm. He swallowed. Hopefully, he wouldn't drop anything while he headed for her room.

He slipped out of his door and stepped to Jo's again. He set the bedding on the floor just under the lock and rapped on the door. Fearing another confrontation with her, he leaped back to his room before she opened her door and saw him.

The second he closed his door and pressed his ear against it, he heard hers swing open and then close. He gathered his courage and peeked out the door. He let out a sigh of relief once he saw that the bedding was gone.

He closed his door again and leaned back on it. He hoped that Jo had seen his gesture as a conciliatory one. Perhaps, one day, she could forgive him for what he had put her through. And maybe, just maybe, one day, he could find the courage to open up to her…forever.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note** : I hope that you will enjoy it.

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

Jo didn't know which was worse: Henry contemplating murder or him contemplating suicide.

She stared at the ceiling, her hands behind her head. She could not believe that Henry had confessed to planning to kill Adam—permanently—with the _pugio_. Maybe she should have listened to her instincts. She should have just broken off all contact with Henry once she had discovered that the dagger was missing. She should have arrested him when she had arrived at the shop instead of wanting him to talk about the picture. Maybe she should arrest Henry on the assault charges, and she should let Adam and Ken, the security guard whom Henry had poisoned, testify at his trial. It didn't matter that Adam had confessed to abducting Abigail…

She huffed in frustration. If she had arrested him, Henry might have been tempted to escape custody by killing himself. He hadn't said anything about it yet, but something about his knowledge of suicides told her that he had used his death as a way to evade authorities at least once before.

She stared at her feet. Suppose, though, he had taken his concerns to her, and she had believed him at the time. Based on what Henry had told her, if she would have tried to arrest Adam, he would have killed himself to escape. Since he had threatened to kill her, she would have found herself losing her life in the line of duty during his getaway. In the meantime, Henry would have blamed himself for her death, and who knows how it would have affected him.

" _Be careful who you keep company with. You will become like them_."

Her stomach protested against Dr. Washington's words. Two weeks ago, she had been so worried that she would fall under the influence of Henry's darker impulses against her will. It was so easy to accompany her father when he would break into buildings and commit his burglaries. She didn't think twice about its illegal nature until she had witnessed him taking a fire iron and striking an irate homeowner with it. She had trusted her father then, and she trusted Henry now. And yet,…

Her gaze drifted to the clock which showed that it was late into the night. Adam was a callous, psychopathic immortal who was not afraid to drag both Henry's loved ones and the law enforcement community into whatever game he was playing with Henry. As far as she knew, he and Henry would spend all of eternity together. If that were to happen….

Feeling her fear squeeze itself tighter around her, she drew some air into her lungs. What she wouldn't do to keep Henry as the sweet, geeky guy that he was. Since she could not live forever, it was not possible to stay with him and keep him on the straight and narrow.

Unless….

Jo bit her lower lip. Henry had ultimately chosen an air embolism as his weapon, keeping Adam out of his life—at least temporarily—and giving the other immortal a chance to live. Something that Henry had not considered until after she had kicked him out of her car.

Maybe being around others constantly and being a part of a group kept him rooted in his humanity. If she were to stay friends with him, hopefully, it would create a group of memories so powerful that, 2,000 years from now, Henry might be able to enjoy a relatively normal life while freely remembering the people he had known and loved in the 20th and early 21st centuries. Although she wouldn't be able to remain by his side for eons, perhaps she could help him have a fighting chance to keep his humanity.

She turned over and bunched her pillow under her head so that she could try to get some sleep. She smiled for the first time since their breakfast. He didn't have to leave her covers at her door; she could have asked housekeeping for some more. He might have been upset with her, but he pushed it aside long enough to return them to her. Because he wanted her to be comfortable for the night. Just like he always did.

Jo sighed. She wished that she could go to his room and tell him that she didn't have any hard feelings about what he had done over a week ago. That they would try to find a way to stop Adam together without jeopardizing their lives or the lives of everyone else. They had the forensic evidence to build a case against him, but they needed some way to ensure that he would serve time for his crimes.

Yet, she couldn't bring herself to disturb Henry. She wasn't sure if it was because of the fear that her words had cut him deeply or the idea that he was getting some sleep. As much as she wanted to check up on him, it was best if she had let him work things out before she saw him again.

His comments about not wanting to live forever, her own mention of the thought of losing him, and the events of the subway tunnel repeated themselves like a video loop. He hadn't said anything about it, but she was sure that he had thought about using the flintlock on himself someday.

Tears formed in her eyes. People would literally kill to have what he had. Why couldn't he see his life as a gift, both to the people around him and to himself?

"No!"

Henry's bloodcurdling scream filled the air between their rooms. Jo threw the covers off her, bolted off the bed, and snatched their keys off the desk. As she raced to the door, her heart pounded with each step. If Adam had somehow escaped from the hospital and had tracked Henry to their hotel, he could be torturing the younger immortal right now.

She slid his key through the slot and braced herself for what was on the other side. She didn't want to die tonight, and she wasn't ready to see one of Henry's deaths in full. Yet, she would gladly sacrifice her life for his if necessary. If he were to die again tonight, she might as well see it now while she was still processing everything. That way, she could continue their friendship with no secrets between them.

She slightly kicked the door as she entered the room. Instinctively, she examined every nook and cranny. To her relief, the only person in the room was Henry.

Jo's heart broke at the sight of her usually unflappable partner sitting straight up in his bed, his back completely against the headboard and his legs bent in the air. His wide-eyed stare aimed itself at something in the distance. Tears streamed down his face as he failed to notice her presence.

"Don't make me go back in there!" He pleaded. "Every time I'm in that room, I feel like I'm drowning!"

She cocked her head. What was he talking about? Being around an indoor swimming pool had never bothered him before. Then again, neither had being underwater. After 200 years of returning to life in water, he should be used to it by now. The only drowning incident that she could think of was at Christmas, but a cab wasn't a room.

"I don't want to go in there!" He panted. "Please! I'll do anything! Just don't make me go back there!"

Quickly realizing that he risked exposing himself if someone woke up and overheard him, she slid over to him and crawled unto the bed. "Henry?"

"Please!" He quivered and sobbed. "I don't want to go back!"

"Henry?" She gently shook him. "Come on, wake up. You're having a nightmare."

"I'll do anything! Don't take me away from here!"

She clasped both of his hands in hers. To her surprise, he tried to tug them out of her grasp almost as if her hands were trapping him. Determined to have some way to root her partner in reality, she tightened her grip on his hands.

She puffed. She didn't want to call Abe and disturb his evening plans. At the same time, she wished that Abigail was alive so she could tell her what she needed to do to bring Henry out of it.

"Don't send me back to that room! I'll drown!"

His continual pull at her hands suddenly reminded Jo of a suspect whom she had cuffed to a table when she was a young detective. As for her partner's cries… Her stomach churned at the thought of what was really happening,

He was remembering being chained to something just before someone had taken him into a room where they had tried to drown him.

On a hunch, she released one hand and raised it to his head. As soon as her fingers lightly touched his sweaty forehead, he flinched. She braced herself for his free hand to swat hers away, but, surprisingly, it remained the other one's constant companion as he attempted to free himself from her grasp.

She withdrew her hand but kept it near his head. Tears pooled in her eyes. _What did they do to you? Was it because of your immortality?_

She gathered her courage, placed her hand on his forehead again, and began to gently stroke it with her fingers. His free hand loosened its grip on her and fell slack on top of their joined hands while the one that was in hers instantly relaxed.

"Please!" He sobbed out the word and shook as he directed his pleas to an unseen person. "I'll do anything! Don't—!"

"Henry, listen to me." Jo spoke softly, hoping that her words would get through to him. "Whatever you're remembering, it's not happening now. You're safe."

He stilled, and he gradually fell silent. The fear in his eyes faded, allowing him to tilt his head toward her.

"You're safe." She continued stroking his forehead as if it could erase the painful memory from his mind. "What happened was a long time ago," _I hope_. "You're safe now."

She repeated her actions and words until she could see him pull himself out of whatever memory he was in. Finally, his eyes focused on her. He blinked several times and shook his head as if he was clearing the cobwebs from his mind. "Jo? What are you doing here?"

She dropped her hand and enclosed it back around his. "I thought that Adam was in here with you, and I didn't want him tormenting you."

Henry blinked some more. "I must have been having a nightmare."

She swallowed back her tears. She had had several nightmares in which a painful memory had intruded into it over the years. Most recently, they had been about losing Sean, killing Mark Bentley, or—only a few days before—her and Henry's argument and the events in the abandoned tunnel.

"Do you remember what it was about? Talking about it could help." Hopefully, it would make some sense of what he was saying.

He shook his head. "I don't remember." He looked as frustrated about it as he did when they had run into a dead end during a case.

She looked around the room. She didn't want him to be alone if it were to happen again. "Do you want me to spend the night again? I don't mind."

His eyes searched hers, and he gave her a small apologetic smile. "You look like you could use some rest, especially after what I had put you through earlier today."

She returned his smile. Apparently and thankfully, he didn't hold a grudge against her.

She grazed his hands with her thumbs. "Okay, only if you insist."

He gave her one of his lopsided grins. "I insist."

She climbed off the bed, collected the keys, and reluctantly headed for the door. Behind her, she could hear him settling back down on the bed. She looked back at him one last time as she placed her hand on the handle. She didn't know what had happened in his past, but it was obviously a very traumatic experience for him. If only he would talk about it with her. Maybe it would help him finally start to heal from whatever had scarred him for life.

* * *

Jo patted her face dry and studied her appearance in the mirror. She looked like she had been through a lot lately. How was she finding the strength to carry on?

Admittedly, she had spent another part of the night wondering what had happened to Henry in the past. For a while, she had considered the possibility that he had captured and tortured during World War II, but his actions and words didn't fit that assumption.

A knock attracted her attention. She hurried to the door, looked through the peephole, and unlocked it. Henry leaned against the threshold on the other side. "Good morning, detective. I hope that I hadn't woke you up."

"I've been up." She woke up with his nightmare on her mind.

"Do you mind if we talked?" He lowered his head and slightly frowned as he waited for her response.

She stared at him. He had _never_ initiated a conversation about his feelings before. Every time that they had discussed them, she had encouraged him to talk. Why was this time different?

"Yeah, sure." She swung the door wider to let him in.

To her surprise, he remained in the entrance. It took her a moment to realize that, while he had no problem being in the same bedroom with the woman he loved, he wasn't used to being in a female friend's residence.

Jo hoped that Abigail wouldn't mind if she borrowed a page from her playbook. The detective looked him in the eye, smiled, and took his forearm. "Henry, your Mr. Darcy's showing."

As he let her pull him into the room, whatever resistance that he had fled. His initial look of protest gave way to a huge smile, and, if he had planned to say anything, it was forgotten now. Jo smiled. Maybe she could use this to get him to enter her house if they both returned to New York.

She pulled her lips together as she closed the door and watched him pace the room. Even after everything, he might not return with her. He still seemed frightened by something from his past, and he might fear that it would interfere with the present. If he said that he was staying, she wasn't sure what she would do.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. His glazed eyes roamed the room, looking at nothing in particular. A moment later, he bowed his head and blew out a puff of air.

She eased toward him, making sure that she didn't bother him. "What's wrong?"

He snapped his head up, and he finally noticed her again. "I still don't remember what had happened before I woke up to you stroking my forehead and telling me that I was safe. Exactly what had I done during my nightmare?"

She broke her gaze as she bit her lower lip. She wasn't sure if she was ready to hear what he had to say.

She looked back up at him and gazed into his eyes to get the courage that she needed. "I heard you repeatedly tell someone that you didn't want to return to a room because you were scared of drowning there. You begged them to let you do anything else. You tried to pull your hands out of mine…almost like you…." She bit her lower lip and decided to forge ahead. "…almost as if you were handcuffed to something."

He yanked his hands out of his pocket and rubbed them over his face. "That was what I was afraid of." He found the bed and dropped onto it. "I believe that I know what had triggered it."

"Did you finally remember the nightmare?" She didn't want to say the other thing that she was thinking. It might upset him if she were wrong.

He shook his head, and her stomach sank. "It was a memory."

He wiped his hands on his lap, looked around the room, and blew out a puff. "Perhaps it will be easier for the both of us if I showed you what happened. If I were to tell you myself, I fear that I may have a repeat of last night or even a few days ago."

She nodded as she went to gather her belongings. "Can we get breakfast first?" She resisted the urge to yawn. "I need my coffee."

As the cab pulled away from the circle drive in front of the college-like building, Jo turned to Henry. Whatever was bothering him had taken away his appetite. She had managed to talk him into eating a bagel, but she wasn't sure if it would be enough to sustain him through this.

Wanting to get him out of the oncoming rain, she steered him through the front doors and into the vestibule. As they moved toward the stairs, she inspected the hallways. Evidently, the cooler temperatures and the rain had discouraged anyone from coming to the museum.

Henry settled down on the bottom steps. While Jo joined him, she glinted at the statutes which flanked the staircase. The one near Henry rested on his stomach, propped up one arm and one leg in the air. The one closest to her faced the other statue, his hands bound in chains.

She peered at a spot on the ground. "Do you mind telling me why we're visiting this particular museum? Did something happen to you in the hospital next door?" The name "Bethlem" sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it.

Afraid that he would bolt again, she craned her neck to see him. Surprisingly, he remained by her side, his stare a vacant one trained at something in the distance. Both of his hands gripped the stair as if it would keep him anchored to it.

"No, not at this particular location."

"Then, where…and when, for that matter?"

He blew out some air and then studied a spot on the ground. "Abigail wasn't my only wife." He licked his lower lip. "At the time of my discovery of Morgan Shipping's role in the slave trade, I was married to another woman, Nora Tallis. She and I had met through one of my father's business partners, Mr. Byrd...who was also one of my patients. The moment that I had laid my eyes on her while she was visiting Mrs. Byrd, I was smitten. We courted for six months, and we were married three months later."

Jo could have kicked herself. Why hadn't she thought of that? Someone had to erect a tombstone for Henry, and she doubted that the servants would have had the funds to give him a funeral. At the same time, why did she expect him to remain single until he met Abigail?

"After I learned my father's betrayal of our family's values, Nora and I had discussed moving to the States…to New York specifically. We both had always wanted to go there, and we were certain that Morgan Shipping would continue to seek profits over people. When Father passed, we decided to postpone her arrival in the United States until after I sent word that I had freed the slaves and had arrived in New York."

Jo's eyes darted as she considered his words. She knew exactly what Nora had gone through when she had learned of Henry's death. That definitely wasn't easy for Nora to lose her husband so early into their marriage.

She listened to her surroundings. With the exception of the heating system and a couple of people who had passed by them upstairs, they had almost absolute privacy. "What did they tell her about your first death?"

He refused to lift his head and look at her. "She was told that I had fallen over the bow of the ship and drowned."

Jo's blood boiled. The crew had obviously covered up their involvement in Henry's death and the successful slave revolt in an attempt to keep the company financially afloat. She wanted to find the closest time machine, take it back in time, and give them a piece of her mind.

Henry's silence shocked her back to her senses. She shifted herself so that she could do whatever was necessary to keep him in the present. "What happened next?"

He drew in a deep breath of air. "After a Spanish galleon had brought me back to England, I returned home to her. I spotted her, dressed in her mourning clothes, at my tombstone. I called her name, and I apologized for not coming back sooner. She happily took me back into the house. For the next few weeks, life had returned to normal, well, almost normal. I still could not believe that I had become immortal, and I didn't know how to explain it to her."

Beads of sweat lined his forehead, and he started to pale, causing Jo to fear that he would faint again. "One day, she convinced me to tell her what had happened to me." He took a deep breath. "She knew that I had tended to many fatal gunshots to the chest." His voice wavered in time to his lower lip. "She knew that I had lost my uncle Dennis to a gunshot wound; admittedly, it was to the groin, but it was still fatal. She knew that I had left London completely whole."

Jo wanted to leave his side to get a drink of water from the water fountain down the hallway to Henry's right, but she couldn't leave him now. She didn't like where the story was going.

His eyes darkened, and he released the stairs to wipe his hands. "After I told her that I had been transformed, she had claimed that I had gone mad. I tried to prove it to her by using my razor to kill myself, but she told me that she believed me."

He eventually grew still. "The next day, a carriage from the Charing Cross Asylum arrived in front of the house. Two members of the staff and a doctor approached me in the sitting room where Nora and I had been talking and asked me my name. After my confirmation, they informed me that I was to come with them. I refused, and they insisted. I finally demanded to know who had sent for them. When they told me that it was Nora…."

Jo nodded and stared at the floor. She had almost done the same thing to him in New York.

He huffed. "I might as well get this over with. If not, I would never be able to tell you what happened."

They rose from their seats. As she stared at the top of the stairs, she gulped. Whatever was up there was connected to his estate and to his nightmare. Hopefully, it wasn't so traumatic that he would accidently reveal his immortality to others. She had no idea what to do if that occurred.

* * *

Jo mounted the last step and followed the signs to the permanent exhibit. "How do you know about this place?"

He turned to her, looking slightly calmer than he had been earlier. "I overheard a couple of our fellow guests discussing it when I had used the lobby's spaciousness to pace and think about what had happened last night. After their conversation, I dashed back to our floor."

"Ah." Leave it to Henry to learn things in the strangest ways.

They passed through a hallway created by two informational panels and turned to the left. As they entered the room, a timeline greeted them. The early history of the asylum was interesting, but she was more curious about when Henry was in one of them.

They stopped at the panel for 1815. Just before she began to read it, he leaned over her shoulder and lowered his voice. "Although Bedlam is the most famous of the asylums, there were many private ones located throughout London at the time. Charing Cross was one of them."

"Bedlam". That was where she had heard the name before.

He sighed and leaned over again. "I was to be transferred to St. George's Field shortly after my arrival at Charing Cross, but my status as a gentleman and the parliamentary inquiry into Bedlam's conditions had dissuaded the doctors from doing so."

She read the panel. It felt weird to hear him confirm it. "Do you know what they diagnosed you with?"

"Delirium." His voice was barely a whisper.

They continued walking until they reached a wall filled with antique glass bottles. She beamed as she imagined her partner hoisting one out of his medicine bag and removing its contents for a patient.

Her thoughts travelled back to his basement lab. She nervously bit her lower lip. Hopefully, the question didn't sound insane enough for them to be committed next door. "Why do you keep human organs in your lab?"

She caught his eye. His own widened, and he gave her a lopsided grin. "They're educational samples. Sometimes, I use them as a model to determine precisely how a death occurs."

She threw her head back. She had never thought about that.

As she inspected the bottles, a purple light bathed several on the bottom. Curious about its source, she moved around the wall and into another exhibit. The moment that she turned the corner, a white coat hanging on the opposite wall caught her eye. In some ways, it looked like the tailcoats that she had seen in her favorite movies, yet something about it seemed familiar in another way.

Upon closer inspection, she gaped at the longer sleeves and the tail hanging down behind the back. It was no ordinary coat. It was a straitjacket.

She looked at Henry's reflection in the glass. Her heart almost stopped at the sight of his body aligning perfectly with the contours of the straitjacket.

She turned back to him. Under his expression, she could see a panic beginning to build inside him.

"I was placed in one before I was taken away." He intoned.

Her breath left her. She couldn't even begin to imagine what that felt like.

She pivoted toward the exit on the other end, and a group of manacles and handcuffs came into view. She fought back her tears as she read the display's description. She, by policy and law, had limits on how long she could keep someone handcuffed, and even Molly didn't keep her clients in handcuffs for long periods of time. How could the doctors keep Henry chained for hours on end? He hadn't done anything wrong. All he had done was to tell his wife the truth.

At the same time, Jo kicked herself. She should have gotten the key for him immediately when he had been cuffed to Molly's apparatus. As much as they seemed to have enjoyed the situation, he had been trying his best to keep himself from having a panic attack only moments before.

She spun around, brushed past him, and marched toward a hallway. She didn't care where she was going. She needed to escape the exhibit to keep from breaking down in front of everyone.

"Jo!"

She stopped in time to notice that she had almost walked into a wall. She glanced back over her shoulder, finding herself face-to-face with a concerned Henry. She ran her hand through her hair and pulled herself together. "Sorry. I was lost in thought."

He placed both hands on her shoulders. "Are you okay? We can leave if you want."

The unexpectedness of his strong but gentle gesture halted her surging sorrow. "I'll be fine." Something had to create a fear of drowning in him. "I want to know the rest." Her eyes searched his. "How are you holding up?"

"I've been worse. Let's say on the ground."

She nodded, and they continued to the adjacent section. The displays depicted what was described as various forms of treatment. Bloodletting, leeches, medicines which made one vomit, a chair that looked like a bad ride at Coney Island. How did they not kill Henry with any of those? Or, had they, and he had used that experience during several of his autopsies?

His silence sent a chill down her spine. She craned her neck, and she struggled to hold back her fear when she saw his pale face and sweaty forehead. Determined to learn what had frightened him, she followed his gaze. Another frame showed a man tied up to an apparatus and then dunked into a tall tank of water.

"They laid me down, chained my hands to the wall, and covered my face with a cloth before they poured water over me." His wavering voice whispered his account.

Her eyes darted around the room. That was what she had heard last night.

Feeling weak herself, she tapped him on the shoulder. "Let's get out of here."

He snapped out of his trance and followed her out. As they approached the exhibit's exit, she gaped at him. Now she knew why he had rarely talked about himself. Why he rarely trusted people. Why he would rather flee the country than to confirm the truth when confronted with it. Why he had nearly abandoned his family twice. Why he didn't want to go to therapy. Why he had fainted when she had told him that she believed that he was immortal. Why he studied death. Why he couldn't see his life as a precious gift. He had been tortured before, and he was afraid that it would happen again.

"You've been living a nightmare, and you have been hoping that you would wake up from it."

They stopped in the middle of the stairwell leading to the outside. Henry spun around, and his shocked eyes searched hers for the origin of her comment.

She stepped toward him and enclosed her hands around his. "What was supposed to have been a celebration of your second chance at life turned into a nightmare. I believe that's when you stopped living for the first time." She smiled. "Abigail and Abe had brought you back to life, and you had been barely clinging onto it since she left you." She held his gaze before it wandered off. "Over the past year, I had seen you wake up again during our cases."

She took a step closer to him. "You're the strongest person I know." She nodded toward the exhibit. "To go through that and to still want to be around people, I couldn't do that. If it were me, I would have found an isolated place and been a hermit for the rest of my life. But you... You have never completely isolated yourself from others. I find your courage to live in spite of your rough start totally amazing."

A pair of staff members' voices filled the air, preventing either of them from saying anything more. As they left, Jo noticed him considering her words. She hoped that he would latch onto something that she had said and hold onto it as though his life depended on it.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** The museum that Henry and Jo visit is the real-life Bethlem Museum of the Mind, located on the Bethlem Royal Hospital campus. The information about Georgian and Regency-era psychiatric treatments are from page 2 of Inquiries' "The History of Mental Illness: From Skull Drills to Happy Pills", English Historical Fiction Authors' "Madness in their Method: Water therapy in Georgian and Regency times", Number One London's "Hydropathy in Georgian England: Not Your Mother's Spa Treatment", and Psychiatry and History's "Waterboarding as Psychotherapy".

Henry technically experiences a night terror, not a nightmare. The main difference between them, aside from the amount of panic that occurs during the dream, is that a nightmare unfolds when one is fully asleep while a night terror happens when someone is between somewhere between being asleep and being awake. Moments before his bloodcurdling scream, Henry begins to wake up from his nightmare. Unfortunately (or fortunately), his memories of the asylums intrude before he becomes fully awake. (The information on both comes from Wikipedia.)


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note** : I hope that you will enjoy this chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

This was one of the few times in his life that Henry had felt numb.

Jo's words tumbled in his mind as he closed the door and staggered to his bed. How could she see two centuries into the past and quickly diagnosis the source of his pain? How could her definition of courage, one which was based on the times in which he had given into his innate desire for companionship and love in spite of his better judgment, numb his emotions? How could she see him, not as the monstrosity that he had always viewed himself, but as her fellow human being? How could she pull his innermost thought about his life out of the recesses of his mind and hold it out for him to see?

Her utterance of the words that he had spoken before but wished that he had believed, the ones which Abe had told him multiple times before, and her compassion over the past few days pierced through the scar in his heart and skillfully sliced around the wounded area like a surgeon's scalpel. He attempted to choke back the tears that were forming, but they gradually spilled over. Soon, the sobs shook and heaved his body until he bowed down and rested his elbows on his knees and his head on his palm to stabilize himself.

Every ounce of pain that he had accumulated over two centuries quickly joined the tears. Nora's disbelief and betrayal. The fear that originated in his "treatments" in the asylums. The guilt of having to hide himself constantly, both physically and metaphorically, from others. The stress of being constantly on guard for others' suspicions about him. The never-ending grief of losing everyone he cared about. The fear that others would distance themselves from him and would leave him alone once they discovered that he was immortal. The heartache of every forfeiture of his life when he was discovered. Even every ounce of pain that he had caused Abigail, Abe, and Jo over the years.

He sobbed until the tears ran dry and left him gasping for air. He wiped the remaining drops from his face and silently looked around the room. Within the next moment, his eyes started to grow heavy. Jo had suggested upon their return that he should get some rest to maintain his strength. Perhaps he should take her up on her recommendation.

He rose from the bed, trudged over to the desk, and placed the contents of his pockets on it. Strangely, he didn't feel as worried about his future as he had been. Sure, he still didn't want to helplessly watch Abe die one day. He still didn't know what would happen if Lucas, Hanson, and Lt. Reece were to learn his secret. He still didn't know what Adam would do once he was released from his locked-in syndrome. But, for the first time since Henry had arrived in London—and maybe even before then—they weren't on the forefront of his mind.

* * *

Henry blinked his eyes open as his unplanned nap came to an end. He stretched and stirred as the vestiges of his rest began to vanish. Every muscle in his body refused to budge any more than they had deemed necessary. Any thoughts that formed in his mind disappeared as rapidly as they were created.

He laid there for a while. It was difficult to remember the last time that all of his worries and cares felt so far away. Maybe it was when Abigail had laid beside him. Maybe it was in the few fleeting moments with Jo. Maybe…

His eyes abruptly darted back and forth as the unfamiliar sentiment persisted. For as long as he could remember, he hadn't felt this peaceful before. His mind, even when relaxed, frequently conjured up a fear or worry relating to his life. He had no idea how he had become so serene. If he didn't know any better—and he could be wrong—he would say that the events prior to his nap had somehow removed the seemingly endless pain from his mind and soul…at least temporarily.

His stomach grumbled, prompting him to reluctantly surrender any plans to remain in bed and enjoy the newfound feeling. He pushed himself out of bed and headed over to the desk. He found his pocket watch and checked the time. He shouldn't have been surprised by his stomach's rumblings. The light breakfast that Jo had talked him into had long served its purpose in sustaining him.

He rolled his tongue around in thought. As far as he knew, Jo had never experienced a proper English tea before. Since she appeared to be an Anglophile, she might enjoy it.

He grimaced as he gathered his belongings off the desk. As Jo was a fan of Jane Austen's works, he would hate to disappoint her when he would break the news that he had never met the author. His only acquaintance with her had come from the popularity of her works, especially his own guilty—but pleasurable—readings of them.

He quickly exited the room and bounded to her door. Before he could raise his hand to knock, he spotted a man about Adam's height wearing a black leather jacket pacing near the other end of the hall. His body froze in spite of his inability to clearly see the other man's face. Perhaps it would be best if he and Jo were to remain in their rooms until after the man left the floor.

His stomach growled its protest to his plan. He sighed and summoned the courage to knock. If something were to have happened to Adam, the hospital was under orders to leave a message with Abe should no one on staff reach Henry. Abe would likely contact Jo and request to speak to him if the worst had happened. Since that had not occurred yet, he could safely assume that Adam was still in his hospital bed in Bellevue.

Henry rapped on the door and waited. On the other side, he could hear Jo raising out of bed and moving in his direction. His heart ached within him. He hadn't thought that he could be interrupting some much needed sleep for her.

The door swung open, and she appeared in the threshold wearing leggings and an oversized shirt. She groggily rubbed her eyes and ran a hand over her mussed-up hair. "Yeah?"

He quickly pulled himself away from his admiration of her beauty. "May I interest you in a tea?"

She arched her eyebrows and crossed her arms. "A tea?"

He chuckled and bowed his head. "I know that you are an admirer of Jane Austen's works—or at least the televised adaptions of them. I thought that you might be interested in an authentic English tea."

She giggled, ran her hand through her hair again, and smiled. "Let me get ready. I've just woken up." She started to close the door and then stopped. "Do you want to come in?"

"I don't mind staying out here." He knew all too well the need for privacy while changing. In spite of his lack of inhibitions in stripping off his clothes to dive underwater, he still felt a bit embarrassed every time he climbed out of the water after an awakening.

She shut the door, and her footsteps receded deeper into her room. He grinned as he turned from the door. He couldn't ask for a better friend. Few people had deemed him important enough to interact with, and even fewer had wanted him in their lives. As much as his natural instincts had protested against it, Jo had voluntarily taken on the task of sharing the burden of his secret.

He stepped away from the door, reached into his pocket, and checked the time. Several tea shops should be receiving guests when they arrived. They could take the subway or….

Suddenly, he felt something slice through his back and sever a major artery. His body collapsed to the ground. As he gasped for air, he realized that he didn't have much time—perhaps four minutes, at most—before his next death.

His mind started to cloud as he felt his assailant rummage through his pockets. The floor's security cameras would catch this death, but, for the moment, he didn't care. As long as the man didn't force himself into Jo's room and attack her, he would be content.

He wanted to rise from his spot and prevent the man from finding her. Yet, personal experience was telling him that he was far too weak for that. The best that he could hope for was for her to observe what was happening and defend herself if necessary.

Darkness overtook him as his life drained from his body. The last thing that he heard before his life's events passed before his eyes was Jo calling his name.

* * *

Jo's eyes widened as she saw her partner lying almost lifeless on the floor outside her room. She squatted down, and her eyes travelled to his wound. She gulped at the sight of the large amount of blood on the ground and around him.

She removed her jacket, kneeled on the floor, and applied pressure to Henry's wound. Blood soaked through the garment and onto her hand. Her heart raced as she saw the unending flow. Even if she could slow it down, he needed to go to the hospital now so that he could have surgery if he were to make it.

"Henry Morgan, how do you always manage to find yourself in trouble?"

As she reached into her pocket to call 9-9-9, a weak, raspy breath escaped from his lips. Tears sprung to her eyes the moment that the usually steady rise and fall of his chest stopped. If only she was quicker to change her clothes. If she had left with him….

She wiped the stream on her cheek, the blood of her friend and partner joining it. She had been sure that she might be bringing Henry back to New York with her. Now, how was she going to tell Abe that his father had died in London? How was she going to cope….?

Suddenly, her hands rested over nothing, and a quick burst of air swept past her. She blinked to refocus her eyes. As she dared to look at her ME, she gaped. She _knew_ that he was there a moment before. She _knew_ that she had seen blood pooled around him. Yet, neither of them were there. Everything looked like he had never been there.

"Henry?"

She examined her hands and her coat. Her jaw dropped as they appeared perfectly clean. She rubbed her hands together. To her amazement, they didn't feel sticky in the least.

She placed a hand on her forehead. What on Earth had just happened?

" _I can die, and I have done so on numerous occasions. I, however, have always returned to life…."_

She blinked several times as she got a hold of herself. If she had any remaining doubts about his immortality, they had vanished just like his body.

A glint of gold caught her attention. She quickly recognized his pocket watch lying near his door. She scrambled to her feet. She knew what she needed to do, and she didn't have much time to do it.

* * *

Henry pushed through the last meter of the ice-cold water and gasped for air. The first breath, and the subsequent ones, cooled his burning lungs and woke the rest of his mind. One whiff of the river prompted him to narrow his eyes. It smelled better than it ever had before, with a scent more like the ocean than a sewer. A brief glance underwater revealed fish swimming past him. Sea birds huddled against each other on one of the piers. If he didn't know any better, he would say that the Thames had been miraculously transformed into an aquatic Garden of Eden.

Huge drops of rain hit him on the face and head and pulled him out of his reverie. He cursed at himself for paying more attention to nature than the weather. He leaned forward and headed for shore. If he had been concerned that the gunshot from the flintlock that had been used in his first death had delayed a permanent one, the latest death erased all doubts that he was still, indeed, immortal.

For a moment, he could see this one clearly again. He could feel the knife entering his back, the thief rummaging through his pockets for money. He could hear Jo call his name….

 _Jo!_

He quickened the timing of his strokes. Her loss of Sean was still very raw, so raw that she had cried on his shoulders…something that she had never allowed anyone else but him to see. The thought of nearly losing him a week ago was so powerful that it had been one of the first things that she had mentioned when they had reunited, and it was strong enough to later pierce his heart and force him to reconsider the wisdom of confronting Adam in the tunnel. He was not about to let her suffer any more grief than she had already experienced.

Then again, what if…?

He gulped. What if his assailant had seen her in the hallway? She was unarmed and in a foreign country. If the man was desperate enough, he could have attacked her, and….

Henry pushed the thought out of his mind. He needed to get to her first and determine her chances of survival. Then, he could proceed on a course of action.

He struggled to hold back his tears, but one rebelled against his control and escaped onto his cheek. This was the first time since her confrontation with Detective Hugh Dunn that he had believed that she could die while he headed for her. She had extended her friendship and care to him, and, every time that he was around her, he could once again feel stirrings that he had not felt since Abigail's disappearance. If he could impart his immortality to Jo to give her a fighting chance to live long enough for him to come to her, he would do so in a heartbeat.

He took one look at the beach. Thankfully, the rain was keeping people away from the ancient dock on the beach. He could take shelter there until he was warm enough to continue his trip back to the hotel.

The moment that he was shallow enough to touch the river's bottom, he lowered his legs and hurried to the dock. Once safely under it, he sat down in the sand, bringing his legs to his chest to shield himself from public view. He glanced back up at the rushing traffic on the nearby bridge. For most of the past two centuries, it had been relatively simple to remove some clothes from the trash piles or to borrow them from a clothesline and then proceed to his destination. Now, he didn't want to take a chance on being arrested again. He certainly didn't have the money to be bailed out this time, and he likely would find himself spending time in jail if the patrol officers found him.

No matter what, he needed to get to Jo. She….

" _If they knew more about you,…."_

He swallowed back his tears. If she survived, he did not know how she would react. She had claimed to believe that he was immortal. Nora had said the same thing in spite of the evidence, and she had felt the need to attempt to prove it fifty years later. What if Jo's rational mind would not allow her to believe the evidence that was presented to her when he had collapsed to the ground and vanished?

At the thought of Abigail discovering his condition in the same manner, hope sprung up in him. So far, both Abigail and Jo had reacted similarly in regard to his immortality, with them seeing through his lies, believing the pieces of the truth that he had given them, and gently encouraging him to tell them the full story. Likely Jo would react the same way as Abigail had when she had seen one of his deaths for the first time.

He took another peek at the city around him. A chill created by the combination of temperature, wind, and water on him began to rack his body, and he rubbed his arms to stay warm. Even if Jo was alive, she had no idea where along the Thames to find him. He needed to borrow someone's cell phone, call her, and to let her know where to meet him.

He leaned his head back. _Nuts!_

There was only one problem with that plan: he had no idea what her phone number was. Abe, Hanson, Lucas, and Lt. Reece had saved it on their cell phones. Even Adam knew her number. But _he_ had never thought to look at the screen and memorize it in case he needed to talk to her about a lead while she was out in the field.

"Henry?"

Henry blinked. Did he hear a soft, feminine voice rising over the wind and the waves to call his name?

He slowly rotated toward it, and his eyes widened as he saw Jo gingerly walking along the beach in the rain. She shivered from either the cold wind or the shock to her system as she held her coat over her head to shield herself from the rain. The ends of her wavy, brown hair bounced enchantingly with each step that she took.

A burst of energy flowed through him and propelled him to his feet. As he took in the sight of her, his knees threatened to give out under him. How was it possible for her to be here?

Her eyes locked onto his the moment that she drew close enough for him to reach out and touch her if he wanted. They glistened with tears as he could see her struggling to determine exactly what she was seeing. His heart rent itself in two. If he could find the words to comfort her, to reassure her…

Keeping her eyes on his, she carefully laid one hand on his bicep and glided her fingers over it. The intimate touch and her gaze sapped him of movement and thought. His soul now laid bare before her. She could do anything to him, say anything to him, and, whatever it was, he would give it to her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her moving her hand to a different part of his body. The moment she stopped, gentle strokes glided over the dead nerves and knotted tissues that formed his scar. Ordinarily, he would prevent a woman from touching it as it had brought back painful memories of Nora's betrayal and of his and Abigail's lives together. Yet, he had no desire to dissuade Jo from it.

Henry's breath hitched in his throat. As a matter of fact, he didn't want Jo to stop. Her tender traces of his scar had warded off his earlier chill, and it was rapidly stirring up everything that he had been feeling toward her since he had seen her with Armen Aronov's grandson. If she continued, he might give into some of them.

Jo opened and closed her mouth several times before finally breaking her gaze and looking over his shoulder. Her eyes returned to his, and she lifted a familiar handle off her shoulder. "I hope that you don't mind your clothes being a NYPD sweat suit and some sneakers. We didn't want you to die of hypothermia shortly after another death."

"How…?" So many questions about her presence on the beach swirled in his mind that he did not which one he should ask her first.

He reached out and accepted the satchel that he had always carried when he left his life behind. He opened it, examined each piece, and dropped his jaw. Each item had been selected to allow him to move through the city without any thought for his arrest or his ability to pay for travel.

His eyes widened as he recognized his pocket watch, his hotel key, and his wallet. He was sure that everything had been stolen before his death. How…?

"… _we_ …"

He dared to look up and immediately observed that she had turned away from him to give him some privacy. He reached into the bag, found the packed towel, and quickly dried off. "We?"

"Abe found your satchel in your lab, emptied it, and packed it with some clothes. When he gave it to me, he told me that you would be here if you died again. I picked up your watch, keys, and wallet after you disappeared, grabbed the bag, and came here…."

Her voice trailed off, this time much stronger than it was moments earlier. A piece of him wanted to take her into his arms and embrace her. It had never been easy for Abigail and Abe to watch his deaths, and he shouldn't expect any less from Jo. The only thing stopping him was Jo's desire to display strength.

Henry smiled as he found his underwear. He needed to thank his son for his foresight later. Abe had no idea how good it was for him to see that.

He bit his lower lip in thought. Apparently, the thief had determined that he had nothing of value and had left his belongings in the hallway for Jo to find. Simultaneously, he must have left before she had opened the door, therefore saving her life.

"Don't tell me that you used aconite to kill yourself when we first met!"

His jaw fell open as he pulled up his sweat pants. How did she know that he experimented on himself? Had Abe mentioned it to her?

His questions could be answered later; hers needed answers now. He swallowed more from the memory of his previous experiments than his nervousness. "Yes, I had experimented with aconite in the past, but not during that case. At the time, I was trying to link Adam to the crash, but I didn't know what toxin he—or Koehler, as we later learned—had used to kill the engineer. The toxicology results hadn't returned yet, so I decided to use a small sample of the engineer's blood on myself to speed up the investigation. It was upon my awakening when I realized that it was aconite." He grinned. "I had no idea that you had chosen that moment to search the shop, and, honestly, it had left me more annoyed than frightened."

"I take it that the cuffs were for other experiments and not for replicating Molly's work."

He chuckled. His excuse for them was the worst that he had ever uttered. "They were."

Once he was satisfied with the tie, he looked at her. "You can turn around now."

She stared at him. "Do you often experiment on yourself during our cases?"

Henry bowed his head for a moment. "No, that was the only time. My arrest for possession stopped another attempt, and I haven't done it since. In case you're wondering, I was interested in only a few milligrams of heroin. I had lost too many friends and patients to it and laudanum, and I had every intention to use no more than necessary to determine if the batch later found in the apartment's rats was tainted." He cocked his head. "Besides, when I had used laudanum for my minor aches and pains, it dulled my mind and my senses to the point of making me barely functional. I stopped using it the day that I had discovered aspirin."

Jo rolled her eyes and then smiled. "What am I going to do with you, Henry Morgan?"

A speck of chocolate brown in her eyes caught his attention, encouraging him to examine each one. Everything that he felt for her began to surge through his soul and into his body.

At that moment, a breeze brushed his exposed chest and back. Reluctantly pulling his attention off of her, he reached back into his satchel, took out a NYPD t-shirt, and quickly slipped it over his head.

As Henry found his hoodie and slipped it on, he looked back at Jo. He had come to London seeking refuge, and he had never expected to find it the way that he had. He knew what he wanted to do about his life now, and he needed her assistance to do it.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** The area where Henry is reborn in London is a beach near Gabriel's Walk in Southwark. The smell of the Thames comes from Time Out London's "Phewf, London smells! Here's the fragrant history of five areas" and from "London's River Thames: From Filthy, Foul-Smelling Drain To One Of The World's Cleanest Rivers".

The next chapter is the last one. I am working on another multi-chapter fan fic and a one-shot. It may be a few weeks before I post the first chapter of the new multi-chapter (or the one-shot, whichever one I finish first).


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note** : This is the last chapter. I hope that you will enjoy it.

* * *

 **Chapter 16**

Henry puffed out his cheeks and blew out the air in them. He couldn't believe how nervous he was. Once his mind cleared, it was such a simple decision. He should be calmer than this.

He knocked on the door and shoved his trembling hands deep into his pockets. He hoped that Jo would understand what he needed to do. The first opportunity that he would receive, he would repay her for it.

The door swung open, revealing a more well-rested Jo. The corner of his lips tugged toward the sky. No one would believe how exhilarating it felt for him to see her. How comforting it was to know that she was there for him no matter what happened in his life.

Her hand found his and tugged it out of its hiding spot. As their hands became intertwined, his breath hitched in his throat. The gesture was entirely innocent in nature. Yet, it jolted his senses and erased everything but the awareness of her presence.

He shook his head in amazement while he let her pull him into the room. How could she affect him like this? It was almost as if everything that she said or did was infusing him with life. Every gesture, every word stirred feelings and impulses deep within him that made him want to do everything in his power to please her in return.

Once the door closed, she released his hand. He shook himself out of his haze. As she perched herself on the edge of the bed, it reminded him of his task.

He shoved his hand back into his pockets and began to pace. What he had in mind would change their relationship forever. She had the freedom to say no, and, if she did, he would find another way to do it. Yet, he could not continue unless he knew what she thought about it.

He pirouetted toward her and gave her a lopsided, sheepish smile. "I need to ask you for a favor."

Jo's face fell, stabbing Henry's heart and sinking it in the process. "What is it?"

He swallowed back his tears and smiled again as he stepped closer to her. "I would like to purchase an airlines ticket. When I had bought mine in New York, the ticket agent had given me a curious look and asked me why I haven't obtained it online."

The conversation and his thoughts then, as faint as they were, flowed back to him. He swallowed. He should have never attempted to run that night. He should have listened to the voice in his head telling him to return to the shop. If he had, maybe none of this would have happened.

He looked back at Jo. Then again, a part of him wouldn't trade the last few days for the world. Had he remained in New York, he would have attempted to conceal the full truth from her again, and he would have hidden his pain and refused comfort from both her and Abe. Furthermore, he wouldn't have come to realize just how much the life that he had lived had become a part of him.

He sucked in some air and summoned some more courage to continue. "As I don't have access to the Internet or a credit card, I was wondering if you could help me purchase one. I will repay every penny to you as soon as I can."

With glistening eyes, she glanced away for a moment. "Where do you want to go?"

Jo's quivering voice sent a shot of adrenaline through him. Perhaps this was why he was so nervous. She must have been thinking that he was leaving her behind forever.

He stared at his shoes for a moment to reign in his emotions and smiled. "New York."

"New York?" She repeated, almost as if she hadn't heard him correctly.

Unsure of what he could say, he nodded.

She then grinned. "You're coming home?"

 _Home_.

The word sent another wave of comfort and peace over him. He closed his eyes and smiled. The last time that he had felt truly at home anywhere, it was two centuries ago. After Nora had committed him to the asylums, no other place had given him the same comforts and freedom that he had long enjoyed…

…except one.

The memories of his life in New York rolled past him. He had never realize it, but he had returned there as frequently as he had London. And it was the only other place where he felt that he could be himself. Perhaps he had already thought of the city as his home without his notice.

Feeling Jo's eyes on him, he opened his. She bit her lower lip in thought. After a moment, she leaned forward. "When we were in Houslow, I picked up your boarding pass. It felt twice as thick as mine. Is that normal?"

Henry's mind went straight to the moment that he had discovered the document. He shook his head. "It's not." He scoffed. "I had wondered the same thing myself when I had come to myself and realized what had happened."

Her eyes flew to the left as they always did while questioning witnesses. "Do you mind getting it?" She turned back to him. "I want to test a theory."

He wasn't sure of what she would find, but he immediately returned to his room and located the pass. Once he reentered her room, she motioned for him to hand it to her.

She flipped it over and ran her fingers over it. She then pressed a fingernail onto the side of the pass. His eyes widened as a second piece of cardboard separated itself from the first and fell away from its hiding spot.

She scoffed. "You're going to have to learn how to use a computer. That way, you can see what you are buying."

She handed him the formerly-concealed ticket. His jaw fell open at the sight of the code indicating a return flight to New York set for the beginning of next week.

His knees loosened, and he eased himself onto the bed. How was that possible? He was convinced that his flight was a one-way trip.

She joined him on the bed and laid her hand behind him. Her eyes studied his for a moment, and she smiled at him.

"Do you want to talk about what you were thinking before you ran?" She tilted her head. "Maybe we can jog your memory of that night."

He searched her eyes. He had been unsuccessful in determining his mindset at the time that he had run. Perhaps they could figure it out…together.

* * *

"It would appear that my initial assessment of Neil Young's body of work was correct."

Jo watched as Henry expertly hoisted the duffle bag which she had packed out of the cab's trunk and handed it to her in one fluid motion. "How so?"

"His arrangements are an utter cacophony, but his lyrics are reminiscent of Yeats and Frost." He slung his satchel over his shoulder and reached back into the trunk for his suitcase. "I believe that's also the reason I enjoyed Bob Dylan's early works and the songs that Hanson had sung at the karaoke bar a few weeks ago." He looked back up at her. "Has Dylan retired? I haven't heard his music lately, and Abe hasn't mentioned anything about his death."

"Where have you been living? In a cemetery?" Their cab driver closed the trunk and stared at Henry.

He chuckled and bowed his head. "I generally don't listen to modern music. I prefer symphonies, operas, and some jazz." He reached into his pocket. "How much do we owe you?"

As Henry paid the man, Jo grinned. She had never thought that she would see the day in which Henry Morgan would lavish high praise on rock musicians. At the rate they were going, she, Abe, Mike, and Lucas would be turning him into a fan of rock and roll before she knew it.

"You and your girlfriend have a nice day." He pocketed the cash that Henry had given him and made his way toward his door.

 _What?! Me and Henry? Together?_

"We're not dating." Both of them replied simultaneously as the driver drove off.

She and Henry exchanged looks. It was the third time that day in which someone had mistaken them for a couple. Just hours earlier, the receptionist who had checked Henry into their hotel had called them boyfriend and girlfriend again when they had returned their key. And at the airport, a gate agent who had noticed that they had been assigned seats several rows apart had asked Jo if she wanted to sit next to Henry. She had denied the perceived purely romantic nature of their relationship, but she had eagerly accepted the offer.

Then again, they _had_ been almost inseparable after she had fished him out of the Thames. The only times that they had been apart had been at bedtime and bathroom breaks. What if that was giving everyone the impression that they were together?

She chuckled as she took one last look at the disappearing cab. "To answer your question, Bob Dylan's still producing music. I'll let you listen to some of his more recent stuff the next time that we return from a scene, and I think that I can find some more Whitesnake songs for you to enjoy."

They turned back to the shop. Henry happily sighed as he studied the building's façade. "I had thought that I would never see this again."

She lowered her gaze. For a while, she had thought the same thing.

His eyes found hers. "Well, shall we?"

She grinned. "Of course."

He pushed through the entrance first and held the door open for her. As she crossed the threshold, she gaped in amazement at everything that had happened since the last time that she had come here. Then, she was confused and frustrated about him, wondering if she would ever get a peek into his mind. Now, she was closer to him than she had ever been before.

Abe sat at the desk in the corner, reviewing his paperwork and being oblivious to the pair in the room. She wanted to say something to him, but she held back. Now was not her time for that.

Henry set his suitcase and satchel down on the floor. "Abraham?"

Abe stirred himself from his work, looked at the pair, and then stared at them in disbelief. He then removed his reading glasses, eased around the desk, and joined them in the middle of the shop. He threw his arms around his father. "Pops!"

Henry wrapped his arms around his little boy and held him tightly. "My apologies for what I had put you through lately."

Abe pulled away and observed Jo before staring the older man in the eye. "When I whisk a girl off somewhere, I would pick Italy or Tahiti. But London?"

She glared at the younger Morgan. She and, based on his description of the city, Henry preferred Paris.

Henry laughed. "We were already there. I might as well show Jo where I had lived."

She smiled at the memories of seeing the cottage that had served as Belton-Sutton's general hospital. The house where the Morgan family had lived after World War II. The park that had once been the prison where his cellmate—a Catholic priest, of all people—had helped him escape. The intersection where Abigail had discovered Henry's condition. The suburbs where Henry had investigated Jack the Ripper. Places that told a little more of the story of his early days. When they weren't touring the city, they had spent their time talking about their lives, and she had surprisingly talked him into watching a game of cricket on TV.

Tears found the corners of her eyes, and she swallowed them back. They had even gone to Holy Trinity Church's cemetery and laid a pair of bouquets on the graves of Henry's sisters. Henry then broke off a twig from one of the trees and laid it on his brother's grave. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder as he had broken down and had told her how much he missed them.

While they had been at the florist's, she had asked if he wanted to lay some flowers on his mother's grave as well. He shook his head. As they stood beside his siblings' graves, he mentioned that it was still too soon for him to see the family estate again. Although he had felt more peaceful than he had when they had been there, he hadn't want to risk the memories of Nora's betrayal overwhelming him to the point where Jo would be unable to bring him out of the past. Perhaps they would go there again when he was ready.

Henry's presence called to her. He grinned and bowed his head before looking back at Abe. "This had to be the sloppiest run that I had ever made."

She grinned at the immortal. "Maybe you wanted to be caught."

He chuckled. "You might have a point."

Abe placed his hands on his hips and shifted his weight. "So, what happened?"

Henry sighed again. "From what I can remember and what Jo and I had been able to piece together, recent events had sent me into a blind panic. As I began to pack, my mind must have cleared long enough for me to realize that I truly did not want to leave my life here in New York behind. I must have jettisoned my business attire, abandoned my satchel and journals, and took my American passport and enough cash for a two-week stay in my destination. I must have selected London since it had served as my home for many years. I remember going to JFK and using my real name for the flight, and I remember not worrying about the consequences of being found. I don't remember checking to the hotel, but I do remember setting my luggage in the room and collapsing onto the bed. When I woke up in Houslow a full day later, I assumed the worst, and I didn't want to return." He turned to her. "Fortunately, you, Lucas, and the NYPD noticed my absence and pursued me."

"You still wanted us to be a family, and you needed time to think about everything that had happened lately."

Henry turned back to his son, his mouth agape at the memory of Abigail's similar decision. "I guess that you could say that."

"I appreciate you two calling me when you finally decided to come home." Abe's eyes darted from his father to the detective. "So, what happens now? Pops didn't leave under the best of circumstances."

Catching herself squaring her shoulders, Jo reminded herself of whom she was talking to. "Tomorrow morning, Henry and I will go to Lt. Reece's office and tell her that Adam had used your father's therapy session and his trips to the river to blackmail him into stealing the _pugio_. Henry and I will add Adam's photograph, blood sample, and fingerprints to the suspects' database and see if they match any other crimes both here and internationally. If Lt. Reece gives me permission, I will start combing the surveillance footage from our crime scenes to check if Adam was there when we were. I will also begin a background check on his alias of Dr. Farber and see if anything else comes up."

"How are you going to explain his locked-in syndrome?"

"I will tell Lt. Reece that Adam and I had met in the tunnel so that I could give him the _pugio_ and that he had collapsed after I had left him." Henry licked his bottom lip. "As much as I would like to keep him away from Jo, I will be adding her name to the list of contacts that I had given the hospital. That way, she would be apprised of the situation as well."

He shifted his weight. "In the meantime, Jo has given me six months to disclose my condition to Lt. Reece. At the same time, the three of us will need to select which stories I can safely tell Lucas and Hanson when they ask about my past. They've been inquiring about it a lot lately, and I would prefer to tell them something rather than to let their assumptions fill in the gaps. If and when the truth eventually comes out, they won't be confronted with the lies and half-truths that I had told Jo."

"Yeah, I'll help you do that." Abe then smiled. "Did you two enjoy yourselves?"

Jo beamed with pride and pointed at Henry. "I talked him into seeing the Changing of the Guards for the first time."

Henry pointed at himself. "I was raised to respect the king's or queen's residence. One did not view their security practices as it protected the monarch from assassination."

She looked back at Abe. "He treated it like we had an audience with the queen. He wanted to go back to the hotel and change into the only suit that he had brought."

Henry glared at her for a moment before breaking his gaze and bowing his head. "I still don't fully understand everyone's fascination with it." He shoved his hands into his pocket and smiled at his son. "It, however, was quite interesting to watch."

Abe laid a hand on Henry's shoulder. "I'm glad that you had a chance to rest. I know it wasn't easy for either of you to deal with the truth."

Jo lowered her gaze. It certainly wasn't, but, if she had the chance to do it all over again, she wouldn't change a thing.

She looked at father and son. Perhaps it was time for her to leave. That way, they could catch up.

She tapped Henry on the shoulder. "Call me anytime you want. You have my number now."

He gazed at her. A moment later, he took her into his arms and pulled her close to him. He placed his lips near her ear. "Thank you for everything."

She closed her eyes at the unexpected gesture. Something about the way that he was holding her felt so natural, so perfect.

She pushed her thoughts aside. He was truly grateful for her actions, and she shouldn't let more romantic notions cross her mind. "You're welcome."

He held her for a moment longer. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Abe's eyebrows shoot up and him turning away from them. What was he thinking?

Henry slowly released her, his eyes slightly filled with disappointment. Was there a chance that he was feeling the same way that she had?

She quickly pushed the thought out of her mind. He would tell her one day…when he was ready.

She picked up the duffle bag that she had used instead of the small suitcase which she had carried a few weeks ago. As she headed toward the door, she took one last look at Henry and Abe as they talked about the flight to JFK. She smiled as she flipped the sign to "Closed" and walked out the door. Henry was finally home.

* * *

 **A** **uthor's Note:** How long does it take Henry to tell Lt. Reece the truth about his condition? That's a story for another time. Right now, I don't have one planned, but who knows? Maybe I will think of something. If not, I'll leave it to your imaginations.

To confirm something for the Jenry shippers, yeah, their hug is definitely too long to be considered a purely "Thank you" embrace. For your information, they're back to where they are in "The King of Columbus Circle". Maybe their hug is a hint that Paris might be happening before they know it? :)

Like I had said in the last chapter's ending Author's Note, I am working on a couple of stories. The first one will be posted in a few weeks.


End file.
